


The Sacred Rays

by Sophia_Anne_Moore



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2020-04-24 01:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 84,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Anne_Moore/pseuds/Sophia_Anne_Moore
Summary: Troy Bolton's life is split into two distinct parts. His past contained enough catastrophes to break him, whereas today's second chance has given him hope for the future. Will his experience with loss and self-destruction prevent him from trusting his heart again?





	1. Prologue

Troy always wanted to visit the Midwest in the autumn to see the colorful phenomenon of changing leaves...but not like this.

He gazed out into the distance towards the entrance of the cemetery, noticing how the leaves danced, jumped, and twirled around the trees that once held them. He sheltered his beautiful blue eyes behind his eyelids for just a moment to breathe in the cool air and imagine for a blissful moment what it'd feel like to jump into a neatly kept pile of those leaves. His eyes lazily reopened and peered at the faraway scene again; the leaves were repositioned from the wind, yet the brown bark covered trunks and branches still held sturdy in their original position.

The old proverb his mother used to recite echoed in his head,  _some people who enter our lives are leaves. They only stay for a season. Some people are branches, sturdier than leaves, but it only takes one bad storm for them to break off. But some people are our roots, always there to support us through every changing season._

"Son," a deep, baritone voice cautiously spoke, "It's time." Once Jack's strong hand gripped Troy's shoulder, a feeling that can only be compared to a dagger through his chest suddenly overwhelmed Troy. He tore his eyes away from the faraway scene, visible only from the gap in tent curtains, to the small casket in front of him. The whites of his eyes became blood-shot red as tears threatened to pour down his cheeks. His legs felt unstable and his breathing became shallow and painful. He stroked the glossy mahogany wood of the closed casket and laid one final kiss near where her head should be.

* * *

 

Pothole infected streets slice the beautiful Californian landscape into perfectly divided plots of land. Mountainous skyscrapers burst through the clay ground like uncontrollable weeds. Each building conforms to the design of its predecessor. Apartment floor layouts seemingly copied, pasted, and built identically for sixty stories up.

Anything perfectly ninety degrees solemnly exists in nature, but humans have taken quite a fondness to the right angle. Sheltering ourselves from the acute and obtuse crazed natural world, we hide ourselves inside boxes produced by the safe right angle. We live inside boxes within boxes, within boxes. The spreading infestation of right angles has constricted its inhabitants for so long, any acute or obtuse angle feels foreign, perhaps bizarre. Some would even say  _unnatural_.

The Bolton Architecture Firm LLP resents the ironic taboo with acute and obtuse angles and challenges the box-obsessed world of architectural design. Founded and led by Mr. Jack Bolton, he and his partner, Mr. Charlie Danforth, along with their teams of architects, continuously duel against the very foundation of modern architecture with every one of their projects. Their company saying "Think Outside The Box" represents their signature designs, always vacant of a single right angle.

Business has been booming ever since their opening in 1993. They consistently land major accounts with hotel entrepreneurs and city building projects alike. Therefore, "Bolton" has become one of the most easily recognized names in the wild world of architecture. Unfortunately, their outlandish and impressive designs haven't been the topic of conversations about Bolton for the last five years.  _Was it a rehab stint? Was it a suicide attempt? Was it the death?_  None of this talk is about Mr. Jack Bolton. No, not whatsoever. The gossip surrounding the famous "Bolton" name is about the second generation at the firm...his son, Troy.


	2. Outside The Box: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a friendly reminder to pay attention to the time stamps italicized at the top of each part. This is important because the format of this story is very unique; it moves both forwards and backwards simultaneously. The present-day chapters occur close together and follow Troy and Gabriella's developing relationship circa early 2016, whereas the past-tense chapters move further and further away and expose more of Troy's past as the story progresses. It will be a dramatic, tragic, and romantic journey to recovery.

_Ten months ago._

Curiosity nibbled into the minds of the architecture firm employees upon hearing the announcement of his return after months of absence. The break room and cubicles buzzed with a plethora of conspiracy theories and rumors for his sudden disappearance. "His secretary isn't saying anything," Sharpay quietly dished while closely watching the intent face of her sole listener. "I'm thinking she must know something."

Tiara spoke softly underneath a thick English accent, "I know. I overheard Mrs. Falstaff talking on the phone with him." Sharpay stared at Tiara's gloss covered lips, attentively waiting for the next few words to spill off of them. Tiara continued after a quick glance around the office to ensure nobody could be eavesdropping, "Sounded like he tried to...you know..." she mouthed the next words, " _kill himself"_.

" _What?_ " Sharpay's mouth fell open and the steaming hot cup of coffee in her hands threatening to fall to the floor from her loosened grip.

" _I know_."

" _Oh my God._ " Sharpay was utterly shocked, and rightfully so. News that one of the most wealthy, attractive, and single twenty-somethings in Los Angeles had attempted suicide is inherently shocking. The actual validity of this news, however, was undetermined. Sharpay and Tiara were clueless office gossips who wasted company time sharing secrets, spreading rumors, and speculating. Far removed from Troy's inner circle, they were the least reliable source of information about the man. A much more interesting and informative dialogue about Troy would be one between his confidants - Jason, Ryan, Zeke, and Chad.

…

Bits and pieces of surrounding conversations in the restaurant reached their table, but not a single word came from any of Troy's closest four friends. They didn't need to talk of his absence or the reason since they already knew. Therefore, there wasn't anything left to discuss about him. They were his friends. Good friends. And good friends don't talk about their friends behind their backs.

The office creatively thought of both absurd and plausible explanations surrounding his absence, but none of them could be verified. And those who knew the truth were not mumbling a single syllable on the matter. The only place left to look for the answers we crave is with Troy Bolton himself.

...

Waiting just outside of his luxury apartment building for his car door to be opened for him, the bright Californian sun complimented his tanned complexion and handsome face. "Are we ready to depart, Mr. Bolton?" The hunched over, elderly chauffeur asked Troy, with the car's backseat door held open in his hand for him.

"Yes," Troy said, leaning down and entered the car only to be engulfed in the all too familiar new car smell.

"There you are," the chauffeur looked expectantly at Troy from his place on the curb, still holding the door ajar.

"Thanks," Troy said monotonously, without the faintest inflection of genuine gratefulness whatsoever. The chauffeur gently closed the door and staggered around the car to the driver's seat.

Positioned on the hot black leather in the backseat, Troy fidgeted with his silver cufflinks, repeatedly popped them in and out of his sleeve nervously. Once the driver pushed the start button, the eight-cylinder engine inside roared to life.

"So," The chauffeur attempted to make small talk as they traveled their usual commute, "Are we more nervous or excited for the first day back?" but took a turn too sharply by mistake and ran over the curb.

Troy responded with annoyance lacing his tone, "Let's focus more on the road than on my professional life."

"Of course, sir," Jameson apologized. The decades of patiently chauffeuring the wealthiest citizens now coming to good use as his voice makes no indication of his true, deepest thoughts. Even if Jameson decided to finally snap and yell out all of his innermost, insulting thoughts, there was a slim probability that Troy would even listen. Always preoccupied with his own issues and life, Troy never paid Jameson any of his self-centered attention. This day is no exception as the ride continued with just the faint sound of the newest mainstream pop music playing from the radio in the front.

"Good morning Los Angeles!" A voice interrupted the tune. "It's your host, DJ Johnny, here with the lovely Ms. Tiffany to give you your forecast for today."

"Yes, Jonny," A squeaky, mouse like voice chimed in on the broadcast, "Today is a March seventh, two-thousand and fifteen and your forecast looks mighty sunny and bright! So don't forget your rayban-"

"Hey," Troy began, the irritability thick in his voice again, "can't you turn the radio off?"

"Yes sir," Jameson replied, pressing down the off button firmly. He patiently waited to by chance hear an appreciative 'thank you', but only silence filled the air inside the car. Suddenly, the soundlessness was brutally interrupted by a loud ringtone coming from the back seat. Troy quickly dove his hand into his suit pocket and took out his company phone.

"Hello?" He asked into the cell.

"Troy!" A booming, baritone voice greeted him.

"Yeah, Dad?" He sighed, annoyed by the new helicopter parenting strategy his father had recently implemented.

"Good morning!" His father's voice was perky and enthused, a complete contrast to his son's tired and dreary demeanor, "just making sure you're up."

"Yeah, I'm moving." Troy grumbled.

"Great! Make sure you're here within the next hour. You have a very dispersed team that needs some serious leadership." His father joked, since he had been the Troy's team's leader during his rehabilitative hiatus.

"Alright. Be there in about twenty."

"Okay. See you then, son."

"Bye."

...

"Thanks for leaving the rest of the curbs unflattened." Jameson laughed at Troy's remarks as he held the door open for the young man. Once he was in front of him, however, his facial expression dropped into a contorted grimace of resentment.

The office building that contained the Bolton Architecture Firm LLP was nothing short of magnificent, particularly because it had been their original design! Some would even argue it was Bolton's best work. Nearly forty stories tall, the building's shape was...hectic. Walls and entire stories bulged out from the traditional building "box" design. The walls and stories met in an array of acute and obtuse angles. The building was simply incomparable to the surrounding modern skyscrapers looming high above. It had become almost a landmark in the city of Los Angeles with tourists constantly snapping photos and selfies with the remarkable structure.

The interior was less eccentric so far as architectural design goes only to make the space functional. Nevertheless, the lobby was essentially an enormous open space with modern, bright colored sculptures suspended in the air overhead. Past the security clearance and into the center of the space sat a circular front desk situated directly underneath a massive blown glass chandelier. On either side of the lobby sat rows of elevators for the firm employees and other building occupants to use. There was an exclusive elevator for the higher ups and executives, of course.

Each level that the elevator ascended resulted in an equal rise in anxiety for Troy. Finally reaching the fourteenth level, the heavy elevator doors parted as a thunderous applause erupted across the entire floor. The employees threw their papers in the air in celebratory manner and a banner dropped from the ceiling saying Welcome Back Troy!

But of course that's not what  _really_  happened.

Instead, Troy walked anticlimactically through the floor, passing countless cubicles on his way to his office. Many eyes rose from their messy desks to stare at him as he passed, but no one gave him any sort of recognition. When he finally found his office, a circle of familiar faces were waiting to greet him just outside the tall doors.

"Troy," he began with a deep, aged voice that matched his greying hair and shallow wrinkles. "Welcome back, son." He wrapped his long arms around Troy awkwardly. They weren't a 'huggy' family, and this was apparent by the stiffness in their embrace. Once they parted, Jack said, "Come in," and guided Troy and the group past the empty secretary's desk and into the office.

"Much has been accomplished in your absence," Jack began his speech, "but there's much more left to achieve." The talk his father was now presenting reminded Troy of his basketball days in high school when his father coached the varsity team. Only this time, the topic was not rebounds and remembering defensive strategies scribbled on a white board in X's and O's, it was winning over clients with extravagant architecture plans. And opposed to the stench of sweaty gym clothing and teenage angst, a delicate scent of potpourri wafted over the office, coupled with the sense of assurance. The only thing identical to his high school days and now were his four teammates, dressed in proper business suits instead of the nostalgic Wildcat jerseys or fedoras.

First to his right was Chad Danforth, his old captain assistant in basketball and now the lead assistant in the architecture team. His tightly curled brunette afro was brushed over away from his face and barely grazed his shoulders in length. A joyous, young face was still recognizable behind a new, short goatee.

Next to Chad at a towering six-foot-five was Zeke Baylor, a dark skinned and shorthaired culinary artist turned architect. It was shortly after being chosen for an apprenticeship in France with the renowned chef Jacques Lourdeau that Zeke made the shocking announcement that he would instead be pursuing architecture with his friends. Luckily for his close friends and family, he could still perfectly execute a delicious home cooked meal.

Appearing shorter than he really is next to the giant Zeke was Jason Cross. Jason was lucky to survive college, let alone the architecture graduate school in Los Angeles alongside his teammates. Notorious for stupid questions and an oblivious nature, Jason is somewhat the comedic relief in the office from the all too serious business tone. Jason successfully fulfills the prediction set by his high school superlative of "Most Likely to Be A Laugh".

Next to Jason stood Ryan, Sharpay's twin brother and former Wildcat mascot. The man was headed for Julliard, but had a change of heart after the first semester. He couldn't muster up much of an explanation for joining the jocks in their architecture endeavors at the University of Berkeley, apart from claiming that he was homesick.

"So," Jack continued, "welcome back, Troy. Please become reacquainted with your office. And we'll see you at three for a meeting." He turned to leave, but noticed the other four workers stayed behind to give Troy their own welcome back speeches. He started spinning back towards the young men, tempted to remind them of their upcoming projects, but decided against it.  _Troy's just returned. Let them catch up,_ he thought as he redirected his path towards the exit.

Chad exclaimed, "It's good to have you back, man!" His open palm landed on Troy's back with a loud clap.

"Thank you," Troy said sincerely for the first time today.

An awkward pause occurred before Chad broke the silence with some office small talk, saying, "So I guess Blake is pushing the settlement up to half a million."

Ryan asked in disgust, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, that's what my dad said at least."

Troy asked, "What settlement?"

The four others looked around at themselves uncomfortably for a moment. Chad finally asked Troy to clarify, "You mean you didn't hear about Blake?"

"No, I didn't hear anything besides what you guys told me during visits."

Jason began to spill, "It's a nightmare man! Biggest scandal of the office."

"What happened?"

"He was giving-."

Zeke cut Jason off, "Wait!" holding his hand out in front of him to stop Jason from sharing any more.

"What?" Jason asked. Zeke shared a warning glance between himself and Jason, but the look went straight over Jason's oblivious head and he asked again, "What?"

Zeke roughly rubbed his temples in frustration. Troy knew that there was obviously something they knew but weren't supposed to tell him. It could be stupid gossip, but that wasn't the point. It was the principle of the matter. Regardless of what the information was, Troy was entitled to it as a firm executive.

He demanded to know, "What is going on with Blake?"

Ryan spoke up, "He was caught selling blueprints to Brown and Associates." Saying their rival's name burned as it escaped his lips and left a gross, sour taste in his mouth.

Troy growled, "What?" When all their eyes on him gradually averted away uncomfortably, he decided to redirect his anger to the person responsible. His step was aggressive and his blue eyes were cutting ice into anything he saw from behind their narrowed lids. Those standing in the hallway practically dove out of Troy's way as he crossed the firm to his father's office. Unannounced, he hostilely shoved the two large glass doors open and entered the office to confront his father.

His father stared unbelievingly at the intruding man. He quickly mumbled into the phone squeezed between his shoulder and ear, "I'm going to have to call you back." He dropped the phone onto the receiver and asked, "Can I help you, Troy?"

"Why was I not informed about Blake?" Jack dropped his pen onto his desk and leaned back into his chair stiffly, preparing for his son's oncoming fit. "Why did nobody tell me?"

"I see your team's loyalty is more to you than it is to me." Mr. Bolton stood from behind his desk and crossed around it over to his son.

"Can I get a direct answer out of you?" Troy asked with his jaw clenched in anger.

Jack answered honestly and calmly, "It did not concern you at the time."

"Not concern me? Since when does what happen in this office not concern  _me_?"

"I said at the time," Jack explained. "You were indisposed."

"I still need to be informed about everything!" Troy shouted, the anger taking control of him.

"Excuse me?" Jack responded, now meeting his son's shout with his own. "It was and always will be my decision who needs to be informed and who doesn't." He stepped closer to Troy until they could feel each other's breath. He dropped his voice to a quiet, yet intimidating whisper. "Your sense of entitlement is despicable, Troy. You come into my office, yelling at me about your right to our firm's information during a time of  _absence_?"

Troy glared resentfully at his father for his decision to not inform him of the firm's scandal, but couldn't help but feel a sting of shame for his impulsivity. Here he was, his first day back in two months, and he throws a tantrum in his father's office? Now the red in his face wasn't from anger, but from embarrassment. Shamefully, he averted his eyes from his father's.

"I hope this outburst is attributed to your first day nerves and won't become a reoccurring problem." A tense moment passed between the two of them in the silent office before Jack ordered, "Get back to work."

"Yes sir," Troy sighed as he left the office, his head dropped in shame as he trekked back to his own office.


	3. Outside The Box: Part Two

_ Ten months ago. _

Troy reentered his office just in time to catch the last few words of Chad, Zeke, Ryan, and Jason's conversation, "I'm telling you man," Jason argued, "that Brit Tiara has the best butt in the entire office."

Troy yelped out Jason's name in equal parts shock and disappointment, the other men looking around each other nervously.

Jason shrugged casually, "What? She does! What's the big deal?"

Zeke suggested, "Sounds like we need anther sexual harassment seminar."

"When did we start having seminars?"

Ryan threw his hands in the air in defeat and Chad said, "Monthly, Jason!"

"Geez, We Hate Jason Day, is it?" Jason crossed the room away from the large desk and towards a meeting area equipped with a short black leather sofa and two pearly white armchairs. He sloppily plopped his freshly shined designer shoe onto the large glass coffee table in front of him. He spread his arms out on the sofa on either side of him and slouched down into the stiff leather.

Troy plopped himself down into the armchair opposite Jason on the couch as Chad began, "Don't get too comfortable, team." Jason sighed in disappointment and rolled his eyes as Chad continued, "Daichi Kawaguchi and his team are flying in from Japan this afternoon for a proposal for his new hotel in L.A." He tossed a booklet of the proposal into Troy's hands and flew another one into Jason's lap. "Another one for you, too because I know you lost yours, Jason."

Jason said, "you know me so well," and flipped back the cover to the extensive table of contents. Zeke, Ryan, and Chad brought theirs out from their brief cases and stood to present the proposal to Troy.

Troy sifted through the lengthy proposal and said, "Impressive. I really mean that. This looks really intricate, you guys." Troy looked up at the others as he smiled, "I'm proud!"

Zeke joked, "You know, we're not completely useless without a captain, right?"

"Well, then what the hell am I doing back here?"

Jason said in a self-deprecative manner, "I ask myself that everyday."

The others looked at Jason as a beat passed over them all. Chad was the first to bring the conversation back to the proposal at hand, "Anyways…As you can see on page thirty-five, we're going for a far-east meets modern American look. So we've incorporated different aspects of each culture into the entire design. For instance, there's a reserved area in the lobby for a traditional tea ceremony underneath a modern chandelier."

Troy said almost regrettably, "I noticed that. I'm not sure that flows well."

"Well, as I said, we want to incorporate both so-"

"No, I understand your intent. I just don't like the execution. They're not blending. They look uncomfortable and out of place. Can we move the tea ceremony area away from the chandelier?"

Frowning with disappointment that Troy didn't approve of the entire plan, Chad shrugged unenthusiastically and said, "If The Man says so."

"But you guys did a really great job overall!" Troy quickly encouraged as he walked to his desk to call his father's office (The Man) to approve of the changes.

"Yeah," Chad studied his design again and couldn't help but agree with Troy's convictions. How could he have thought it worked well in the first place?

Troy's grabbed the office phone and brought it to his ear as he began to dial his father's office number, when suddenly, someone gave two quick knocks on the door. The tall door slowly opened and an elderly woman popped her head inside the office and spoke, "Mr. Bolton?"

"Yes Ms. Falstaff?"

"A receptionist has just informed me that Mr. Kawaguchi and his partners are currently waiting in the conference room to be seen."

"What?" Chad asked, a panic ringing in his tone and fear in his enlarged eyes. "They're nearly five hours early!"

"Thank you, Ms. Falstaff." Troy said across the long office as she turned back around for her desk.

"Dude!" Chad stepped across the room in a hurry to Troy. "What do we do? We can't change it now and print off new proposals, there's no time!" He blurted out a thousand words a minute.

"Okay. First, calm down." Troy calmly directed.

"But the proposal-"

"Isn't perfect, but it'll pass. Don't sweat it, now let's go. Jason!" Jason didn't respond, but kept bobbing his head in a rhythmic fashion. Thoroughly frustrated and stressed out by the events at hand, Chad stomped his way to in front of the couch and ripped the ear buds out of Jason's ears.

"Ow! What's your problem?"

"Kawaguchi meeting, now!"

"What?" Jason asked Troy, seeking confirmation.

Troy yelled behind him, "Now" as he left with Zeke and Ryan.

"Now?" Jason dumbly questioned Chad again, still not believing the news.

Chad bopped Jason on the back of his head, making his shaggy hair flick forward. "That's what I said!" He watched as Jason frantically gathered his proposal and briefcase. He ordered, "Get your head in the game!"

...

The shadows cast by rows of pillars and the light from the windows alternated as the four walked down the endless hallway to the conference room. Troy tightly gripped the cold metal handle of the wide glass door and glanced back at the others and said quietly, "here goes nothing."

The enormous metal table situated in the middle of the long room separated the clients on one side from the architecture team on the other. At the far side of the room was a large projector screen for presentations, and occasionally, videos of office shenanigans. The large windows over looked the busy LA street below, but the honks and bustle of the city could be drowned out by Jack's booming voice as he said, "Mr. Kawaguchi, may I present to you my team." Mr. Kawaguchi and his business partners all stood and bowed to the young gentlemen.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kawaguchi." Chad shook hands with Mr. Kawaguchi.

"The pleasure..." Mr. Kawaguchi began slowly, a thick Japanese accent making it difficult to understand him, "Is all mine."

Twenty minutes of slides on design, slides on engineering, slides on cost, and slides on all three later, Mr. Kawaguchi was anything but impressed. His eyelids appeared heavy on his face as they threatened to shut from boredom.

"In conclusion," Troy quickened his pace for the summary of the presentation and proposal, "we have an excellently crafted design for your new hotel that's functional, economical, and aesthetically pleasing. So, can we make a deal?"

Mr. Kawaguchi slowly leaned forward in his chair and said, "Gentlemen. Could you let us be alone for a few moments to discuss that possibility?"

Jack politely yet unconfidently agreed, "Of course!" The Bolton Firm team all hurried into the hallway to make a new plan of action. He was used to his proposals being met with excited agreements and lawyers presenting contracts. Whenever a client requested time to 'discuss' with their team, a very sheepish "we'll pass" typically followed. The team was not willing to let the Kawaguchi account slip through their grips and into the hands of another firm - especially the fools at Brown and Associates.

"Jack," Charlie began quickly, "We need to do something."

Troy said, "We actually have a fix."

Mr. Bolton asked impatiently, "Well? Let's hear it."

"I want to move the tea ceremony area away from the chandelier."

Zeke doubted, "What difference will that make?"

Chad barked back, "A big one, Zeke."

Mr. Danforth offered his advice, "At least it's something different. There's no way we're closing this deal with the current proposal."

Zeke argued, "It's a  _tiny_  something. A minuscule detail!"

All eyes turned towards Mr. Bolton for his final word.

Jack thought for a moment before ordering, "Troy, present your changes." To this, Zeke shook his head and crossed his arms disapprovingly.

Troy said, "Thank you," before leading his team back into the room.

Mr. Kawaguchi turned around with a look of confusion buried deep beneath his wrinkled face. "Gentlemen," Mr. Kawaguchi stated, "We have not yet reached our decision."

"If you'll excuse me," Troy put his hands forward as though offering something to him, and continued, "we have a development that I think may impact your decision. Please, would you allow me to adjust our proposed design? It will only take a moment." The businessmen exchanged a quick few glances amongst each other before Mr. Kawaguchi nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Mr. Kawaguchi." Troy grasped the projector remote in his hand and clicked it until a full screen picture of the lobby occupied the screen behind him. "Here, as Jack informed you before, we're attempting to merge two worlds into one. The far-east design of your traditional hotels in Japan, placed in the modern district of L.A." He paused for a moment to breathe and contain his nervousness. It had been a long hiatus and he had forgotten the high-anxiety nature of presenting to a potential client. The fact Mr. Kawaguchi's decision now rested entirely on Troy's alterations did little to help the stress. This was the last chance they had to win him over. It was now or never.

"I don't know about you gentlemen, but the longer I look at this design, the more it bothers me. There's something that doesn't quite connect with our intended merge of the two styles." Troy guided the mouse over to the tea ceremony area and dragged it away from the chandelier and next to the main desk, (which was crafted to have a far-eastern design). "Now, there's a different feel. The two aren't nearly as conflicted. They peacefully coexist in this improvement. I know it's a small change, but I think you'll all agree that the area does look more cohesive, yes?"

The Kawaguchi team looked at him blankly and for a moment, Troy felt certain that he bombed the proposal. Just when he thought they would disagree and laugh at him, slowly their heads began to nod and Mr. Kawaguchi said gently, "Yes, much better." To this, Troy felt his body relax into the familiarity of success.

"So," Troy said, "Can we make a contract?"

"I think..." Mr. Kawaguchi looked around at the faces on his side of table, and then finally said, "Yes."

_... _

For hours, countless blueprints and project drafts flew by Troy's desk as he produced, revised, and edited his team's work. The coffee cups were occasionally brought in and taken out by Ms. Falstaff since he was too preoccupied with work to pour cups for himself. The large sheets of potential building layouts overflowed from his desk and onto the floor. Buried behind the barriers of work, Troy was embracing the office lifestyle again.

Finally, the sound of pens scratching paper and meaningless small talk over the copier was traded for clinking glasses and the savory hum of L.A. gossip. Chad, Jason, Ryan, and Zeke all sat together at a Hank's Bar amongst other exhausted business people. Troy, on the other hand, knew much better than to allow himself to be seen anywhere remotely close to a bar. In fact, his plans tonight entailed a certain group for his small problem of that nature.

_... _

The basement of the community center smelled like dirty mop water, and from the state of the floors, that idea must not be too far off. Although it was already seven in the evening, piping hot pots of coffee were positioned on top of a tilted wooden table next to a large assortment of donuts. Slowly, the donut count dwindled and nearly everybody was equipped with a cup of Joe in one hand, and a wad of tissues in the other. Once the analog clock hanging above the door pointed exactly to seven, the counselor began.

"Well, I suppose that it's now time, we should get started. Please, everyone, find a seat in the circle." His directions were spoken almost somberly. Slowly, the men and few women in the room all plopped their tired bodies down into the chairs. Those who had been there a while had their unassigned, yet habitual spots. But scattered in the mix of regulars were a few nervous looking new comers.

"I see some new faces." The counselor spoke again, "So why don't we start with our usual introductions and how we're doing today, generally speaking. I'll start," He lowered the clipboard held in his dirt and sore covered hands to his lap, opening himself up to the others and saying, "My name is Michael and I am the counselor for this group."

"Hi Michael." The regulars all said monotonously in near unison.

"Hello, everyone. Today, I am doing pretty well. My wife and I still love each other, and my two beautiful girls continue to lighten my world everyday." It was apparent from his quick pace and unenthused tone that Michael has given this same exact introduction for countless sessions. Troy could confirm this.

Slowly, one at a time, all of the members of the group had introduced themselves...all except one.

"Hello." His voice was so soft and shy. He couldn't even force his eyes up from the dark brown cup of coffee in his hands to look at anyone. "My name is Troy and I'm an alcoholic.

"Hi Troy."

"Hi everyone. Today..." he paused a moment to reflect on the events of the day while tracing the top of his styrofoam cup with his fingers. "Today I went back to work finally. I did my job. I saved the company from a potential error..." Although these were all true occurrences of that day, Troy knew that something else had awakened in him today that needed to be addressed. He unheedingly began to vent, "My job always gives me a great sense of purpose, even if that sounds cliché, it's the truth. I'm so productive and kicking ass at a job that I'm really good at...usually. I didn't feel that today. I just felt...robotic. Bored. I'm starting to wonder if my job doesn't fulfill me anymore. And that scares me because I used to live for my job. It was my purpose, my outlet. My love. And if my job can't give me purpose, what can?" The words surprised him as they escaped his lips. It was as though his subconscious was speaking for itself. His psyche took control of his voice and he was hearing this all for the first time. And as he saw the nodding heads and sympathetic looks from the group around him, he knew this was the truth for more than just him.

Troy knew that this long day would be tiring, but he didn't expect to come home with blood shot eyes and his own tired limbs dragging him to the floor. Barely able to wrestle himself out of the confines of his suit, he carelessly threw the articles of clothing onto his dresser in a messy heap. Wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, he crawled underneath the luscious comforter and into the encompassing warmth of his bed for a well deserved rest.

_... _

_ 2:46AM  _ was what the alarm clock on his bedside table now showed, the flashing colon teased him mercilessly with every passing second. This was how the vast majority of his nights were spent; His body was paralyzed with fatigue as his blinking eyelids were the only muscles that moved the entire time. This, coupled with an emotional numbness after the melodramatic turbulence of the day, made him crave sleep more than ever before. And sleep would be entirely possible if not for his hyperactive mind.

A loud, never ending list of pessimistic thoughts and anxieties bombarded him remorselessly. From  _I'll never be as happy as I once was_ , to  _I just want a damn drink_. Until finally, the one thought that always lurked in the back of his mind, waiting until he was vulnerable enough to speak,  _I just want her back_. The words echoed inside his head until tears puddled in the brims of his eyes. His chest was constricting with the memories of that beautiful fall day.

No longer able to suffocate his formidable emotions, he curled onto his side and brought his knees into his aching chest. As his tears doused the pillow, he bit down hard on his knuckle to smother the sobs. Then, seemingly all at once, the outburst ceased, every muscle relaxed, his thoughts silenced, and he fell into a deep, deep, therapeutic sleep.


	4. The Newcomer: Part One

_January 4th, 2016.  
_ _Monday._

_Can't w8 4 Valentine's Day,_  Ms. Falstaff diligently taps away on her phone's keyboard as her eyes dart around the small buttons in search of the letters she wants to use. Since it was her very first attempt at texting, the task took a near humorous amount of time for the elderly woman to complete.

Her relatives have been scolding her for constantly calling when "texting is just so much easier!" Succumbing to the pressure, she's finally began to send instant messages, or at least attempting to. So her thumbs twitch and tap away at her phone atop her lap, effectively hiding it beneath her oval shaped desk from any executives that might pass by.  _I love U, dear._ She puts force on the send button before locking the phone. She gently places the phone next to her highlighters and note cards - methodically, I might add - so as not to disrupt the perfect arrangement. She slowly guides the drawer shut with both of her hands to make sure nothing shifts around during the process.

Ms. Falstaff is the definition of type A. As a young child, her dolls never veered from their particular line up in her oversized wooden toy chest. While all the other students ran outside in a game of tag or a hopscotch scrimmage, Ms. Falstaff preferred to arrange the sticks she found according to length, then again by thickness, and once again by color. Coming as no surprise to anyone who knew her, she would later become a librarian at East High School where her organizational superpowers were in high demand.

Then, one day about seven years ago, the library budget was cut and Ms. Falstaff was forced into an early retirement. Luckily for her, she had decades of experience and connections to the Bolton and Danforth family from the times she would shush their sons in East High School's library. As fate would have it, Troy Bolton suddenly needed a secretary of his own. And the rest is history.

From the corner of her eye, she spots Troy turning the corner towards her desk that's situated directly in front of his office. "Good morning, Troy!" She stands to greet him, exposing her very dull ensemble of a long light pink pencil skirt, an oatmeal colored top, and dark brown blazer.

"Good morning, Ms. Falstaff," Troy mumbles in his usual tired tone. "How are you?"

Her voice waltzes with her words in upbeat manner as she responds, "Fantastic! And yourself?"

"I'm fine."

Ms. Falstaff resists the urge to roll her eyes at that obvious lie. _I'm fine_. Pssht! When has that ever meant anything besides the exact opposite? Troy has been a mix of everything besides fine for almost six years now – lonely, depressed, broken, mourning, angry, etc.. He took the meds his psychiatrist prescribed, showed up to all the AA sessions, and met with a therapist every week. He did all of these things in the hopes that he would one day say  _I'm fine_  and it wouldn't be a complete lie. Today, the usual purple bags underneath his eyes and generally sorrowful demeanor are a testament to this.

So no, frankly, he isn't fine.

He continues on drearily, "You can forward my calls directly to me this morning." He runs a hand through his short, sandy brown hair. "I know they have all the secretaries working on firm schedules right now."

Her greyed eyebrows dip together in a look of confusion once Troy makes this unusual request. "Well, wouldn't that interrupt you?" She asks him.

"I'm sure I can handle it." Troy reassures her and he begins to push the office door open.

Ms. Falstaff quickly informs him, "Gabriella Montez is in there."

Troy drops the door to a complete close before bending towards Ms. Falstaff and asking in a hushed tone, "Who?"

"Gabriella Montez," Ms. Falstaff repeats, handing him a manila folder with the name  _Gabriella Montez_  scribbled across the top in a thick sharpie marker.

"I'm sorry, what is thi-?" He stops his quick interrogation as a look of realization suddenly crosses his face. "Oh the draft illustration position! I forgot about those interviews. They were _this_  morning?"

"Yes sir, it's Monday, January fourth." She lowers her head to peer at him from above her glasses' rims and offers, "Do you need me to ask her to come back another time?"

"Of course not, that'd be unprofessional. I'll take her." He quickly flips through the pages inside the manila folder that contains Gabriella Montez's resume and photos of her work. "Thank you, Ms. Falstaff." He comments as he opens the large door into his high-rise office.

Not taking his eyes off of the papers in his hands, he confesses, "I'm going to be honest and let you know that I haven't looked over your resume since when I first received it months ago."

A soft giggle sounds from her smiling, gloss covered lips. "That's alright," she says, standing up from her spot on the black couch and slowly approaching him.

Troy's eyes immediately roam her body from the snug grey pencil skirt hugging her sexy hips to the tight dark purple blouse accenting her breasts.

"I'm Gabriella Montez," She introduces herself with a delicate, high pitched voice and exposes her perfectly aligned, whitened teeth in a breathtaking smile. "Do you mind if I take the couch?" She says cheekily, "I've already warmed a seat."

"Of course!" He laughs incredulously, surprised at his own attraction for this stranger. "That's perfectly fine, um," he forces himself to glance away from her captivating beauty for just a moment to read the name on the manila folder again, "Miss. Montez."

"You can call me Gabriella," She instructs him while walking back to her spot on the couch.

"Of course," Troy says apologetically. He takes a seat next to her on the couch, overly aware of the space between them and makes it as small as possible, but still professional. "I'm going to start off with the most cliché interview questions because I'm obviously very unprepared this morning. Why don't you tell me your strengths and weaknesses?"

"Well…if you had looked at my resume lately," she clears her throat, "you'd see that one of my biggest strengths is in drawing and sketch."

Troy can't save himself from the oncoming blush to his face and rising smirk on his lips at her tease. He nods, "Touché." He licks his lips in thought for a moment before asking a follow up question, "When did you start drawing and sketch design?"

She says, "When I was in my senior year of high school." Her eyes light up with passion for the topic at hand as she reminisces, "I had this fantastic, truly inspiring teacher. His name was Mr. Bolton, too, and he was so incredibly supportive of me and my art. He had so much confidence in me when I was too young and insecure to be proud of my work and of myself. So not only did he teach me many skills in sketch design, he also taught me to be confident and have determination. Unfortunately, he passed away right before graduation and I didn't even want to walk at the ceremony then. He impacted me so much and I was absolutely heart broken when he passed, much more than when those dumb high school boys rejected me." She says with a little humorous smile.

"You went to Valmont Academy, didn't you?"

She gives him a puzzled expression before saying, "Yes! How did you know that?"

"That's my uncle, Frank Bolton."

Her eyes look at him heavy with sympathy as she gently wraps her small hand around his forearm.

It feels as though the suit jacket sleeve could incinerate underneath her warm touch. "My father and him actually butted heads about his art," Troy says. "My dad expected Frank to follow him into architecture and produce the sketches here at the firm, but Frank wanted more freedom and taught. It made for some awkward family reunions."  _Why am I sharing all of this?_ He wonders to himself. They have only just met maybe ten minutes ago, and even worse, for a job interview! This is not the time, place, nor occasion to discuss personal matters like family drama.

As Troy feels an apology bubble up into his mouth for overstepping the professional boundary, she says, "I think all of us have some of those familial tensions." with an understanding nod.

"Anyways," he chuckles, "I would ask you about your weaknesses, but I can already tell that you must not have any." He intends the words to be complimentary (and if she perceived them as flirtatious, so be it), but she laughs them off as though he were being sarcastic.

" _Right_." She gathers her thoughts for a moment, shifting her body on the sofa to angle herself towards Troy more. "Well, I'm actually terribly introverted."

"Really?" Troy repositions, too, causing their knees to connect. Neither acknowledges the touch, nor separates it. "You seem like such a great conversationalist."

"Yeah, I'm doing really well right now with you!" She smiles kindly, "Well, one-on-one I am," Gabriella explains, "but in groups I'm very timid. So my voice usually gets drowned out in meetings."

"I can assure you that doesn't happen here. That won't be a problem."

She shoots him a curious look before asking, "Oh, are you meaning hypothetically  _if_ I'm given the job?"

"Yes! I'm sorry. I should have clarified that."

"No," she smiles, "I'm sorry I was just a little confused."

"Actually, before we discuss that, I was hoping to show you around the office to see if this firm would be a nice fit for you."

"Oh!" She exclaims, impressed with the idea, "That'd be excellent!"

...

"Ms. Falstaff," she looks up from the calendar on her desk and is surprised to see the owner of the happy voice being Troy Bolton. "I'll be away from my desk for awhile."

"Yes, Mr. Bolton," She responds, noticing a light in his blue eyes that had been dormant for almost as long as she has been working for him.  _What happened in there?_  She wonders. Following Troy out of the office was the answer: a beautiful, petite, dark haired woman by the name Gabriella Montez.

Troy suggests, "I suppose we can start with where your studio would be," guiding Gabriella through the sea of cubicles with his hand resting respectfully on her upper back between her shoulder blades.

Sharpay mouths to Tiara from her cubicle across the aisle, " _Who is that_?"

Tiara shrugs her shoulders and watches the pair disappear into the hallways and out of sight. Sharpay attempts to casually speed walk over to Tiara, but 'casually' and 'speed walk' don't exactly coexist. When Sharpay lands at Tiara's desk, she interrogates her, "Have you seen that girl before?"

"Never, but he had his hand on her. Did you see that? Did you see his hand on her back? I can't be the only one who saw that."

As Sharpay and Tiara brainstorm intricate theories for the mystery woman and Troy's apparent closeness, the duo in question finally reach the end of the hallway where the conference room is located.

...

"This is the conference room." Troy tells her as she stands next to him. He looks at her and appreciates the sight of her profile from her cute nose to her beautiful eyes.

"What are they doing in there?" She asks.

He scoffs jokingly before responding, "Conferencing..."

She rolls her large brown eyes and a pink tint blushes onto her cheeks, "Thanks, Sherlock."

He quips back, "Hey, you're the one who asked, genius!"

To this, she brings up her small, clenched fist and punches him playfully in the arm.

"Ow! Did you just  _hit_  me?" he plays surprised, "Are you always going to hit me? Is this just a thing you do?"

"Only when you're being a smart ass." She glares at him, but the smirk on her face is a clear giveaway of her playful intentions.

Troy can't contain the hopeful smile currently forming on his lips from the thought of Gabriella joining the office to correct his ass-ry, to see her and teasing with her on a daily basis. Although they've only just met, Troy knew that he liked her. A lot. He liked everything he's seen so far from her art, her playfulness, her sense of humor, to even the way her voice squeaked when she laughs.

On the inside of the conference room, Chad finally takes notice of the two standing in the hall looking in on them. He excuses himself from the collaboration and walks into the hall.

"How's it going in there?" Troy asks him.

"Great!" The sarcasm weighs heavily in his voice, "I've only been studying architecture for years longer than all of these interns combined. So there's no way I know anything about aesthetics."

"Of course not!" Troy plays along, giving him an encouraging pat on his shoulder. "Don't take it personally. You'll be on their level one day."

"Yeah," Chad says with a quiet laugh. "Thanks." An awkward lull occurs while Chad looks from Troy to Gabriella, and Gabriella from Troy to Chad.

"Oh!" Troy finally realizes he should probably introduce them, "Sorry. Gabriella Montez, this is my team lead assistant Chad Danforth. And Chad, this is Gabriella," he softly places his hand on the back of her upper arm, "she's interviewing for the open draft illustrator spot."

Chad kindly offers his hand out to Gabriella, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you!"

"You too!" Gabriella smiles warmly to him. Troy looks at her longingly from the side, with a smirk in its beginning stages in response to seeing Gabriella's bright smile.

The sight of the dumb grin smeared across his best friend's face makes Chad awfully curious. "Do you two know each other?" He asks suspiciously.

Troy says almost defensively, "Us? No.".

Gabriella chimes in, "We just met this morning. Why?"

"You guys just look very...I don't know.  _Comfortable_."

Troy says, "Nope As she said, we just met this morning."

"Must just be me, then. It was nice meeting you, Gabriella. I hope to see you around the office soon!" Chad gives her a squeeze on the upper arm in farewell.

Alone at the end of the hallway, Troy and Gabriella exchange a sheepish smile before heading back through the cubicle forest to the elevators.

...

"I'll have to show your work and resume to Jack before I can give you an official offer." He states almost regrettably, casually leaning against the wall next to the elevator.

"Okay," her brown eyes were flaming with excitement. Gabriella knows that Troy and her have too much natural chemistry for him to let her slip away into the grips of another firm - especially Brown and Associates. This job is as good as hers. "Make sure you put in a good word for me, please."

"What? After how mean you've been to me?" Troy retorts.

Gabriella raises an open hand and serves him a rough slap on the upper arm.

"See!" He rubs his arm and winces in fake pain.

"I'm just putting you in your place, Bolton. Looks like you need someone to."

"I can guarantee you that your  _placement skills_  will be valued by my father and the entire firm." He says with a reassuring smile, "You should hear back from me with an answer by the end of the day."

After a professional handshake, Gabriella departs into the elevator and Troy walks back to his office with a newfound skip in his step.


	5. The Newcomer: Part Two

"That doesn't make sense! Why else has Troy been looking so presentable lately?" She asks in frustration. Sharpay hated not knowing. About her mom's cancer before it was too late. About her now ex-husband's secret, impregnated girlfriend. About the dark and dirty scandals in other people's lives. "It's not like there's anybody here to impress."

When suddenly, a new scent - Clive Christian No. 1 - drifts into their noses as Gabriella Montez passes by them next.

"Besides her." Tiara interjects.

Dressed in a pair of well-fitting light grey slacks, her derrière attracts unwanted stares from a few oversexed male colleagues in the firm. On top, a navy blue blazer is pulled over a long-sleeved, white button down shirt. Resting on her chest, visible from between the few unbuttoned top buttons, is a small heart necklace made of gold. The new Louis Vuitton stilettos rub against her feet, beyond uncomfortably, as they click down the long hallway to the draft production studio.

Standing just outside the studio, peaking into the room from the hallway with his back to her is Troy Bolton. A mischievous smirk creeps its way onto her lips as she, approaching him from behind, leans close to his ear and loudly asks, "Spying?"

"Jesus!" He jumps, startled, and turns to her.

"I'm sorry," she laughs her usual, lively laugh, equipped with a squeak at the end, "I couldn't resist."

A smile jumps onto his face as he listens to her joyous laugh, then he says exasperatedly, "You and Chad...I swear, you both are trying to give me a heart attack."

"But really," her laugh ceases and she asks, "Why are you spying on the draft team?"

"I was looking for you."

"Oh!" Her brown eyes widen in a joking fear. "That's not creepy at all!"

"You must really underestimate me, Montez." Troy begins challengingly.

"Yeah?" She glides a lock of her long, brown hair behind her ear while her brown eyes peer up at him attractively. "Why is that?"

"If I didn't want you to know that I was spying on you," he begins dramatically, taking a step towards her and reaching out a thick binder for her to take, "you wouldn't."

"What's this for?" Her attention is redirected towards the binder in question, abandoning their borderline flirtatious exchange.

"Terrible drafts you need to redo for us."

"Troy..." she flips through the endless binder, "There are hundreds of them!"

"And a proper artist never leaves her work unfinished. Looks like you're going to be with us for awhile." He says tauntingly with a large smile across his face.

"Gosh, you seem  _so_  upset by that." She comments sarcastically as her eyes glance across the plethora of poorly executed drafts.

"True. I've gotten really good at hiding my disappointment." He braces for the oncoming hit to the arm and is glad he did. It's a much stronger one than usual (due to all the practice).

"Ass," she mumbles beneath a smile as she turns back into the draft room.

"Gabriella, one more thing! There's a meeting in a few minutes about the Adlersflügel project that I sent you a few days ago. Your draft is so well done, my introduction couldn't possibly give it enough credit."

"Aww, thanks." She says with a smile and a slight blush.

"So I'm having you present it! Let's go."

"What?" She says, her voice shaking in a sudden panic. "Troy, I can't! I haven't prepared anything."

"Don't worry. It's casual, Gabriella." He reassures her.

"No, really, Troy." The desperation is heavy in her tone, "Just give me some time to prepare a few words and practice."

"Gabriella, we don't have anytime. When I said 'starts in a few minutes,' I actually meant 'started a few minutes ago.' So we really need to get in there. Come on."

...

Jason, Chad, Ryan, and Zeke all glance up to the two as they enter and exchange a knowing smile amongst each other. Chad informed the others about Troy and Gabriella's seemingly natural chemistry, and it wasn't hard for them to then make the connection between that and Troy's improving appearance and mood.

"Gabriella, you've already met Chad. These other two are Jason, Ryan, and Zeke. You can call either whatever name you see fit." The four team members laugh while Gabriella stands awkwardly next to Troy, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Gazing at the projected illustration, Troy says admiringly "Wow, it's such a great piece. Walk us through the work, Gabriella."

A few moments after Gabriella still hasn't answered, he finally looks to her standing next to him. He finds her lips quivering in nervousness while her shoulders stiffen uncomfortably. "Are you okay?" He asks so quietly that the others can't hear.

Her eyes dart around the room in a panic as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid.

Stepping in between her and the others at the table, he leans his head down to her level. "What's wrong?" His eyes study her worried face in concern, witnessing her mouth open, attempt to speak, then shut in defeat. His voice is gentle and calm as he begins to speak to her. "You have nothing to be afraid of here." He notices that his words cannot reach her as she looks off into the distance behind him, distracted by the insecure voices in her head. His large hands carefully rest around her shoulders and he captures her full attention. Staring into her frightened eyes, he restarts "Don't let this intimidate you, Gabriella. These are some of nicest, least judgmental people I know. You, your contributions to our projects, and your art will always,  _always_  be respected here. I can assure you of that. There's no reason to be afraid of speaking or being in here with us." His lips curl into a kind, reassuring smile. "Okay?"

"Okay," she sheepishly smiles back, considerably more calm, and bravely presents her draft.

...

"You killed it in there!" Troy exclaims proudly as he and Gabriella walk through the herd of cubicles and employees on their way to Troy's office.

"Thanks." She hides her face away from Troy to conceal a slight blush.

"Jason even thought it was a photograph! You know that means you did a remarkable job," Being a gentleman, he holds open the door to his office for her, "If you're comfortable with it, Zeke and I are working with a few engineers around two today to solidify the official blueprints. I think it might be nice for you to see your draft come to life. I know you have a lot of work to do with the binder and all, but if you have time..."

"When is this happening?" She asks while lowering herself onto the familiar black leather couch.

"Two in the afternoon." He takes his usual seat on the right side of the couch next to her.

She patiently reminds him, "I'm taking a half day today, remember?"

"Oh that's right. What are you up to even?" He quickly adds on to not seem intrusive, "I'm just curious."

"I need to help set up for an art show this evening with my close friend and renowned sculpture artist, Kelsi Nielsen. Perhaps you've heard of her?"

"Nielsen...Nielsen...where have I heard that name before?"

"Her father's studio, Nielsen Art Installations, did a few of the pieces in suspension above your lobby, Mr. Bolton." She informs him proudly.

"That's right! So she's displaying more this evening? Is it private?"

"Yes, and yes. You must have or be with someone who has..." she reaches into her brief case on the floor to take out a beautiful, multi-colored invitation and offers it out to him, "one of these."

He takes the stiff paper invitation in his hands trace the sharp edges with his fingers.

"It's really late notice," she looks away and hesitantly offers "but if you're not busy-"

"I'll be there." Troy says decisively.

Gabriella excitedly asks, "Really?"

"Oh, definitely! No question about it. I really, really love your work. I wouldn't miss an exhibit for anything."

"Thanks, Troy." Not forgetting how he helped her earlier, she begins, "And also, I just wanted to say..."

"Yes?"

"Nothing," she says dismissively as her deep brown eyes look away in shyness and she gathers her case to leave.

"No," He says, reaching his hand out and rests it on top of hers, stopping her from packing. "What is it?"

Her eyes depart the sight of their touching hands and drag up his body to connect with his dreamy, deep blue eyes. Situated so close to one another, she suddenly notices that the proximity of their bodies on the couch is close to crossing into intimate boundaries. The sensation of the cool air hitting the back of her hand where his was just resting shocks her back into the moment as she continues, "I was going to say...thank you for your words of encouragement in the meeting today." She then sheepishly admits, "It was really sweet."

After a small blush of pink onto his otherwise tan face, he says, "...if I'm being honest, I was kind of shocked by it."

"Why? I told you this would happen."

"Yeah, but I just figured you were getting over it because you're usually so confident with me, but then you were with them and just...froze. I never would have expected that. You just have so many good qualities to be confident about. You're a ridiculously good artist, you're kind, you're funny, you're..." he abruptly ends his speech and looks away, frantically thinking of a new adjective since "gorgeous" wouldn't be appropriate, "um..." he stammers, "you're a perfect fit for this company."

"Thanks, Troy." She smiles, moved by his words. "You know, I didn't think you were capable of complimenting someone else so much besides yourself until today." She jokes with a savory bite to her lower lip.

"Well," he sighs in defeat, leaning back against the couch "getting along was fun while it lasted. Apparently some people's threshold for kindness is significantly smaller than other's."

Her eyes narrow in on him distastefully and she raises a middle finger at him.

"Miss. Montez!" Troy exclaims in surprise.

"What are you gonna do about it, tell your daddy?" She teases him from behind a large smile.

"Now that's just low!" Ending the conversation with one final knee-weakening wink, he stands and crosses his office to his desk.

Her deep brown eyes linger awhile on his fit body's movements until she anticipates he might turn around and catch her staring. So she forces her eyes off of him and finishes packing her things to leave.

...

"Not  _there_!" The bossy little woman barks orders at everyone from the event planners to the volunteers. She must ensure that the fast-approaching art exhibition is completely flawless. After she finishes organizing the layout, she carefully scans each and every one of her sculptures. Kelsi occasionally stops at one to command adjustments be made from the help. "Hide the tape better!" The desperation for a perfect exhibit tonight weighs heavily on Kelsi's usually kind and courteous demeanor.

"Kels!" Two familiar, small hands constrict around Kelsi's shoulders from behind, "It's finally happening!" Gabriella cutely hugs her small friend from behind and rocks her from side to side while squealing in excitement.

"Gabriella!" Kelsi yelps out her name in annoyance. "Can we please save the squeals for once we start selling pieces?"

Gabriella, slightly discouraged, drops her arms from Kelsi and allows her to face her. Gabriella speaks confidently as her brown eyes beam with pride for her work as she says, "Oh Kelsi, we'll sell. If we miraculously sell every single piece, great! If we sell none, that's great, too! We did great work regardless of this dumb city's lack of appreciation for art. Just giving our art a chance is a bet that ninety-nine percent of the population could never place. Just doing that is success in itself even if no pieces leave here today."

"Gabriella," Kelsi's puppy-like brown eyes peered out empathetically from behind the brunette strands of bangs hanging over her face, "I hear everything you're saying. Don't get me wrong, I hear you. I really do. I just don't really feel like your failure pep talk is really helping my nerves right now. You- you understand, don't you?"

Gabriella giggles to herself before reassuring her friend, "Of course, Kelsi. What I'm trying to get at is; chill and don't scream at all our planners and volunteers or they may not come back next time. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm sorry about that."

...

Always fashionably late, Los Angeles' most elite benefactors finally arrive to the exhibit nearly half an hour after its start. All the men are elegantly dressed in nearly identical designer tuxedos with glossed back hair and trophy wives attached at the arm. The women are draped in decadent evening gowns that sparkle and flow over their thin, model-like frames.

Kelsi and Gabriella stand side by side just inside the gallery's foyer to greet their guests. But concealed deep behind their friendly smiles and soft welcomes exists a deep resentment and strong distaste for the arrogant patrons. Until finally, a few faces amongst the hundreds appear and Gabriella shows her first sincere smile of the night.

"Gentlemen!" She reaches her arms out to greet the Bolton Architecture Firm group.

"Congratulations, Gabriella!" Chad kindly remarks while going in for a hug, "You deserve this."

"Aw! Thank you, Chad!"

Troy pulls Gabriella aside and quickly apologizes, "I hope you don't mind. They really wanted to come along."

"It's okay!" Gabriella turns back towards the group and lightly places her hand on Kelsi's back and introduces her to the group saying, "This is Kelsi Nielsen, my old art school room mate and current partner. This is Chad, Troy, Zeke, Ryan, and Jason."

"Nice to meet you all." Kelsi says from behind a shy smile. "We have hors d'oeuvres and drinks inside for you to enjoy."

Zeke speaks for the group, "Thank you, we'll see you inside." The gentlemen all pile in amongst the countless other bodies.

...

His eyes carefully study the plentiful paintings and sketches inside the intimate gallery. There are many perfectly drawn human figures, a few nude, a few covered in perfectly shadowed silk sheets. One bowl of fruit resting underneath a window, some nature scenes, until finally, one sketch in particular steals his attention.

Situated behind a thin plate of glass sits Gabriella's most recent accomplishment (completed just yesterday, in fact. Barely in time for the exhibit.) It's an incredibly realistic drawing finished with expert lines and precise markings, as though every square millimeter of the picture was painstakingly taken into consideration. From the massive windows to the entire stories jutting out of the building, the structure pictured is a marvelous and easily recognizable sight. On the street-level, a blur of suit-covered human figures approach and depart the Bolton Tower.

"I had a feeling you'd find this one soon enough." A soft, familiar voice says from beside him.

"It's beautiful, Gabriella." He admires the work as the two stand side-by-side viewing the piece.

"Well that's not hard to do when the structure itself is so beautiful already."

"How much is it?"

"You know I can't let you buy this." Gabriella says with a somber shake of her head.

"Why is that?" His eyes peers at her from beneath a curiously raised eyebrow.

"You're the subject." She explains, "It looks arrogant."

"I'm not my dad's firm." Troy argues.

"No, you're not" She sighs as her eyes narrow in thought.

"So..." He turns to face her, "How much?"

"I'd feel weird charging you for it. So if you  _really_  want it, you can have it."

"You see, that's where we have an issue. There's no way I could not repay you."

"Well, I have a possible solution. Although this was advertised as a for-profit exhibit, I could make an exception on this piece. You name the price, and all of the profits will go to a charity of your choosing. Everybody wins."

"Alright..." He lightly taps his lips with his index finger in thought before declaring, "Fifteen for The Red Cross."

"That's very charitable of you. The Red Cross will be very happy to see fifteen hundred more in their donation jar." She gives Troy a departing touch on his back as she walks off to sell pieces to her other guests.

...

The crowded exhibit slowly becomes more and more comfortable as the amount of patrons dwindles. Eventually, the only people remaining are the two artists and a handful of help. Kelsi excitedly approaches Gabriella sitting inside the back office with a stack of checks held tightly in her hands. "Every. Single. One!" Kelsi announces while slapping the checks down on the desk.

Gabriella says, "You're kidding!"

"Count them! That's all twenty-three for every single piece we exhibited. Twenty-three!"

With Kelsi standing over her shoulder, Gabriella lays every one of the checks out on the wooden desk. If Gabriella and Kelsi weren't the ones profiting off of the pieces tonight, they'd be disgusted at the ridiculous amount of money their patrons blow on art. The checks, averaging around three thousand dollar, shows that these people have way more money than they know what to do with. Until finally at the bottom of the stack, one massive outlier left them both staring at the check in utter silence, completely dumbfounded.

_To: The Red Cross_

_$: 15,000_

_Amount: Fifteen thousand dollars and 00/100_

_For: Donation_

_Signed: Troy Bolton_

 


	6. Circling The Drain: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning**: Alcohol abuse.

Floor to ceiling lava lamps and jellyfish aquariums covered up the otherwise dark bar with a florescent blue tint. Metallic stainless steal pillars and glass tables were counterbalanced with the soft, velvety fabrics from the curtains and long sofas. As the hard metal surfaces pierced into the realm of the characteristically sharp modern design, gentle velvet and silk fabrics edged the room back into a bohemian style. As wonderful as the interior design was, it commonly went unappreciated. The mass of intoxicated patrons was far more concerned with the newest alcohol concoctions than something like a bar's color scheme.

"Just one more!" The man pleaded with the bartender over the loud music. He ran a frustrated hand through his greasy hair. Maybe just ten hours ago he was a notable business man, but now, he was just another disheveled drunk.

"No!" The bartender said decisively, his tone strict. "I'm cutting you off!"

"Boo!" The intoxicated man shouted.

"Blake, let's just go!" His friend said from beside him, dressed in a similar, messy ensemble that once may have been a prestigious business suit.

"Why do I have to go?" Blake's droopy eyes met his friend's similarly dazed expression.

A tall, burly man, dressed in all black, yelled at the two threateningly, "Because I'll make you!"

"I'd like to see you try, bitc-" but before he could slur the final, insulting word, Blake's jaw was violently hit shut by a massive, clenched fist. Stumbling around and visibly shaken by the blow, Blake grabbed onto his friend for support before the muscular bouncer pushed the duo out of the bar and onto the dirty Los Angeles street.

After shakily raising up to their feet, the two leaned against the brick building for stability as Black offered, "I'll call us a cab."

"You go ahead," the accompanying businessman slurred.

"What?" Even with the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream and messing with his mental processing abilities, Blake knew that they both had reached their limit. "We have work in literally six hours!"

"I just need a few more and then I'm done, okay? You can go home."

" _Right_..." Blake hocked a slimy loogie onto the concrete sidewalk beside him before declaring, "I just hope you know when to stop, Troy."

...

The girly, pink kitten heel softly tapped onto the tile floor in rhythm with the quiet elevator music. Her long blue and white striped slacks flared out and hovered just above the brand new Jimmy Choo's. Wrapped around her small hips lied a thin, grey tinted belt with a little purple butterfly on the buckle. Flowing locks of blonde hair cascaded on top of the white button down shirt and ended just below her tiny waist.

Shifting her weight to the side and sighing impatiently, she waited as the doors parted for a newcomer to enter the elevator. The soft music was drowned out by a loud  _bing_  as the elevator reached the fourteenth floor.

The Jimmy Choos clicked and clacked confidently against the hard wood floor up to the receptionist's desk. From behind a thin, proud smirk, the woman introduced herself, "Tiara Gold."

After a quick glance through some lists and files on the desk, the receptionist nodded and ordered, "Go in."

"Thank you." Tiara passed through the large glass doors into the firm, receiving a few curious glances from the employees as she passed through the floor. Finally, she found her assigned, currently abandoned cubicle and gently placed a large, bedazzled brief case on the desk.

"Oh my God. Those shoes!" She heard an admiring voice say from behind her.

"What was that?" She asked while turning to face a fabulous woman with long, loosely curled blonde hair framing her envious expression.

"Those are in the latest season of Jimmy Choo!" The woman exclaimed in awe.

To this, Tiara kicked out a foot in front of her to show off the adorable heel. "I'm glad there's someone who can appreciate designer when they see it."

"I know," The other woman nodded her head in agreement. "It's so frustrating to not have anyone at work to talk to about the stuff you like."

"Well," Tiara slowly walked towards the woman, stopping in the middle of the gap between their two cubicles, "If you're as knowledgeable about designer as you seem to be, I think that might be changing soon." She suggested hopefully as her lips curled up into a gloss-covered smirk.

"Oh, I  _am_." The woman stood and quickly crossed over to meet Tiara. Offering out a hand, she introduced herself, "Sharpay Evans."

"Tiara Gold. Enchantée." Tiara gently shook Sharpay's extended hand before crossing her arms and quietly asking, "I'm terribly sorry if this comes off as intrusive, but I'm a very curious person by nature. What can you tell me about the others here?"

"Tons. More than you'd even  _want_ to know."

"Good."

With that, Sharpay regurgitated everything she had to offer into Tiara's perked ears. The couples, the break ups, the engagements, the rivals, the scandals...all of her knowledge on the office personnel. But whether it was accurate information or not, was another matter entirely.

...

"Why the hell would we want to place an oval shaped window in a predominately hexagonal room?" Blake asked in disgust about the projected blueprint at the front of the sleek conference room.

"It's something called _contrast_ , Blake." Chad condescendingly argued from his place at the other side of the thin, metal table, "Which you'd know about if you had paid any attention in grad school."

"You don't need to fall back on a fancy, overrated, leather framed piece of paper when you naturally have aesthetics like me." Blake retorted in an obnoxiously sassy tone.

Jason begged the two, "Will you guys stop? You both argue like two teenage girls."

"Not until he stops changing everything about the design!" Blake said, "Just because Troy isn't here doesn't mean you can just take over."

"Actually, that's exactly what lead team assistant means, Blake!"

" _Assistant_  being the keyword." Blake mumbled bitterly from underneath his thin, barely parted lips.

"Do you have something to say,  _Blake_?" Chad aggressively spat the name in anger.

"Not anything any of us aren't already thinking,  _Assistant._ "

Jason, Ryan, and Zeke's eyes were wide in surprise with a subtle hint of entertainment as they watched the dramatic exchange. Chad and Blake glared resentfully at each other, until a loud bang made the men jump in shock. Attempting to use the door as a crutch as he leaned into the room, the door swung open and left Troy Bolton's sore body to fall into the room and onto the hard stone floor.

"Dude!" Chad exclaimed at the sight, his eyes widening in fear and concern.

"Are you okay, man?" Jason asked gently, kneeling down next to Troy.

"Yeah," Troy moaned in pain while forcing his arms underneath his body to lift himself up.

"Let me help you," Zeke offered while grabbing onto Troy's upper arm to stabilize him.

"I'm fine!" Troy angrily slurred as he flailed his arm out of Zeke's grasp.

"Are you...?"  _Drunk right now?_ Chad thought, but couldn't audibly accuse. Because Troy was stronger than that. Troy wouldn't be so dumb, so self-destructive, so selfish. He wouldn't. Would he? Staring down at the inebriated man on the floor and breathing in a gross, bitter alcohol scent, he wasn't so sure anymore.

Blake began sharply, "Troy, what is wrong with you?" as if he didn't already know from their antics the night before.

"Nothing!" Troy responded defensively.

They watched as Troy's legs and arms shook while attempting to raise himself up. Jason asks the other four in a panicked tone, "What do we do?".

Blake suggested, "I think we should tell Mr. Danforth."

Zeke asked in disbelief at his colleague's betrayal, "And get him fired?"

"What else, Zeke? Hide him from them forever?" Blake raised his voice until another bang caused them all to jump again. Troy had gotten onto his feet with his body hunched over as his hands pressed against his knees. He then slowly titled forward until he crashed into the back of a chair.

"Oh my God!" Chad ran around the table to Troy's aid.

"I'm fine!" Troy slurred again.

"You can't even walk!" Chad yelled in anger, disappointed at his best friend's workplace intoxication.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

...

"Zeke is such a good cook, it's unbelievable." Sharpay practically started salivating at the thought of Zeke's culinary talent. "Anyways," she batted away the thought with her hand and grew more serious when saying, "I guess the last person to discuss is Troy."

"What about him?" Tiara stared attentively at Sharpay, sensing some serious information coming her way by the way Sharpay saved him for last.

"He's the team lead for the younger architects at the firm. When I first met him, he was the nicest, most popular guy in high school. A complete heartthrob, but wasn't aware of that so he was still such a sweetheart. Not arrogant like most basketball stars. Today? He's  _such_  an ass."

"What happened?"

"Well, it probably all started like a year ago. It was quite the tragedy. You may have even seen in on the news," The way Sharpay took her time leading up to the juicy details made Tiara's skin itch with anticipation. "It was so horrific." The memory made Sharpay shutter and her face scrunch up in disgust as she continued, "The poor guy changed so much after the violent death of his -"

Jason loudly warned the office as Troy stumbled out of the hallway and into the cubicle area, "Look out!" Tiara and Sharpay were positioned right in Troy's line of fire as he approached the duo, his mouth overfilling with throw up. Before the two could think to move out of the way, warm, chunky vomit was sloshing all over Tiara's Jimmy Choo's and drenching her exposed toes.

"Ew!" Tiara threw her hands up by her shoulders in repulsion. The stench of the fresh vomit wafted up into Tiara's nostrils. She closed her watering eyes and brought a hand up to cover her mouth, then started to gag from the disgusting smell. She attempted to sprint towards the restroom, but her feet slipped and slid across the vomit-covered floor until she fell backwards into the puddle of vomit with a splash.

...

"I think Brown and Associates might have a serious suit coming their way if they keep implementing designs so similar to ours." Charlie spoke threateningly, his voice the only sound echoing off stonewalls in the massive, high-rise office. "I mean, really? A three story, raindrop shaped front desk for Ramada two months after we did one for Hilton? A judge would find it all highly suspicious."

Jack argued, "Right, we go into it thinking it's an obvious case, and then Brown buys them over again like they did two years ago with our  _first_  plagiarism suit."

"It's such bullsh-"

The secretary entered the office unannounced with a look of horror painted across her face as she quickly spat out, "Mr. Bolton? There's an issue on the floor."

"What is it?"

"It's...inexplicable. Please, just come."

Charlie and Jack exchanged a curious look between them before trailing closely behind the secretary onto the floor of cubicles. Passing by them, scurrying out of the office, were countless gagging and disgruntled employees. Finally, the three reached the epicenter of the disaster - Troy on his hands and knees with his five teammates squatting down around him, and a very embarrassed, vomit-covered new employee laying on her back across from Troy.

"Are you okay, Miss?" Charlie asked in awe as he bent over to help Tiara to her feet, willing himself not to throw up at the sight and smell as well.

Meanwhile, Jack carefully stepped around the land mine of vomit puddles until he reached the young team. "Get him up!" Jack ordered them as only Jason, Zeke, Ryan, and Chad pulled Troy's tense body up by his arms. "What is going on?" Jack asked them, but Blake grabbed Jack's attention before the other four could mutter a lying word.

"Mr. Bolton," Blake leaned into Mr. Bolton's ear and murmured quietly as he snitched, "I have reason to believe that Troy is, in fact, intoxicated." The words proudly slipped off his lips from between a thin, arrogant smirk.

"Jack," Charlie placed a hand on his partner's shoulder from his other side and urgently spoke, "We should talk in your office."

"You all clean him up and get him to us when you're done." Jack impatiently ordered as he and Charlie turned back for his office.

Passing by the secretary, Jack barked, "I'm not taking any calls." while he and Charlie firmly shut the door behind them and sat together at the meeting area.

"Let me start off by apologizing sincerely for my son's actions. Life has just been hard on him lately. Not that I'm making excuses for his behavior-"

"Jack," Charlie stopped him, "No apology necessary." The two sat in silence for a moment as Charlie carefully thought of how to word his oncoming suggestion. He leaned forward in his chair towards Jack, and slowly began, "I think we need to give him a leave of absence to stay in a rehab facility."

To this, Jack's blue eyes looked at Charlie with uncertainty for the implications of the idea. "How is that going to help anyone? Troy can't just leave the firm with all the work we have yet to do! Business is booming this time of year. We can't afford to lose a team lead right now!"

"Jack," Charlie began to speak reasonably, "He needs this time to recover from an obvious addiction. I understand young adults. We were their ages before. Don't you remember? We'd get blitzed all weekend long, but we never showed up to work hung over...especially on a  _Wednesday_. Troy has been calling in sick due to 'migraines' about twice a week for the past month! That's not being a young adult anymore, that's a problem. Troy has an alcohol problem and it needs professional help. "

"He'll lose respect in the office once they discover where he is." Jack struggled to think of the most menial excuses to not send Troy away, "Don't even get me started on the press once they find out. That's marketing damage we can't undo."

"We won't tell the office, then." Charlie problem-solved, "Today we'll blame it on food poisoning. They know better than to start asking questions about his absence. It's none of their business, after all. Only people on a need to know basis will have any clue. That'll be you, Ms. Falstaff, his team, and me. That's it."

Jack's eyes glanced up at the high ceilings above as he considered the thought. His lips curled inward onto each other as his eyes closed shut for a moment. Completely still, he breathed in a shaky breath before admitting, "I never thought my son would have an alcohol problem."

"I'm sorry," Charlie said, unsure if there was anything better to say. Knowing he needed to really persuade Jack, Charlie continued to reason, "It'll be a short stint, Jack. He'll be back before we know it."

"I'll have to call  _her_ about it."

"I'll leave you alone to it," Charlie stood and buttoned his business jacket before leaving through the tall office doors.

Jack let out an exhausted sigh before crossing the large office to his desk and dialing the memorized number.

Three rings, then, "Jack?" Her voice asked with a distasteful shock, like it was an unappreciated surprise. However, there was a slight hint of concern imbedded in her unpleasant tone. There's no reason for her ex-husband to call her unless it were for something serious.

"Hi, Lucile." Jack stated almost regrettably.

The anxious thoughts were bombarding her faster than her mouth could keep up as she rapidly spoke, "What- Why are you- Is there something wrong?"

"Troy..." He uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck in stress - a habit both him and his son exhibit. "Troy needs an intervention."

"What happened?"

"He showed up to work drunk. It hasn't just been today, either. We think he's been sick with this for awhile now. Charlie and I want to put him on a two month leave for rehabilitation. I thought you should know."

Her voice was cracking and shook in pain from the devastating news she was receiving, "Thank you for keeping me in the loop."

"Of course, Lucile."

...

By noon, the janitors and maintenance staff had scrubbed and bleached the cubicle area and everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as normal now meant without Troy.

While the firm employees traded stories of their views of the terrific vomit show (all from "food poisoning"), those closest to the incident were less thrilled by the excitement. Instead, they attempted to push the memory into the furthest, darkest corner of their minds and continue with their usual business as best as they could. Currently gathered in the conference room sat Mr. Danforth, his son Chad, and Mr. Bolton.

Jack started the conversation professionally, "Just glancing through your team files, I see that you guys have some important and expensive accounts. Are you sure you'd be comfortable dealing with leading the team on your own, Chad?"

"Absolutely, Sir." Chad's heart rate increased excitedly faster and faster with every passing moment and syllable progressing to those final two words -  _team leader_. Chad, the  _assistant_ , was to become temporary team leader. Of course the circumstances under which Chad would become lead were less than ideal. However, this may just be the silver lining to Troy's rehabilitation. Chad could finally secure his spot at the firm as a crucial player in the team's leadership.

"Are you  _sure_?" Jack asked Chad, wanting his complete certainty.

"Jack," Charlie chimed in, "I have complete confidence in Chad to perform the tasks of a team leader. After all, he has been assistant for as long as Troy has been leading."

"Of course, Charlie. I'm not trying to insinuate that Chad hasn't been a part of the leadership or has too little experience. It's not that at all. Troy and Chad make an excellent pair, that's undeniable. However...I need to be frank in saying that I don't have nearly the confidence in just one of them handling the team with these accounts. Between the both of them, I trust them with almost any account. Just  _one_  of the two handling all these accounts makes me weary. And Chad, believe me, I'd be saying the same exact thing if you were on leave and it was just Troy. Trust me in that."

"I understand, sir." Chad attempted to speak as though he weren't disappointed, but the saddened look in his eyes and dissipating pep from his posture spoke differently.

"Charlie, if you agree, I'd like to implement a new leadership format where I will be leading the younger team and you'll take the lead in our group in my absence."

"That sounds plenty reasonable." Charlie agreed as the group stood to depart.


	7. Circling The Drain: Part Two

_364 days ago._

The words  _Promises Treatment Center_  were carved into a large, black rock at the entrance to the fenced in house. Deep behind a forest of palm trees and large bushes was the small abode with Moroccan-style architecture. Large arches framed the lower level patio with burnt, rustic orange shingles running across the roof. The rustic dining room, cozy living room, and new kitchen all flowed from one to the other in the ground-level's open concept. Off in a more private corner of the house was a large room containing only a circle of chairs and a large quote on the wall saying,  _God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference._ Ascending the large spiral staircase next to the room, the second level offered five small bedrooms and a communal bathroom.

A steam cloud rolled out of the doorway as Troy cautiously trotted across the linoleum tile so as not to slip. His fingers gently dragged across the wall as he walked, feeling every miniscule bump and crevasse in the stucco. Finally, the cold tile underneath his feet transitioned into plush, warm carpet as he entered his private bedroom.

Minimalism was a key design in the guest rooms. With only a queen bed, a dresser, a desk, a chair, and a framed picture of a lake, the room was mostly empty space. Draping his soaked towel on the back of the chair, Troy then began dressing in a pair of baggy sweat pants and a plain white T-shirt. When suddenly, three knocks sounded on his door and voice shouted from the other side, "Group in five minutes!"

Troy reluctantly left the safe solitude of his room and began descending the stairs to the bottom floor, when he caught the sight of a tall figure entering the group therapy room before him. Quickening his pace to catch up, he entered the room and sitting in the closest chair facing away from his was the man with medium-length, straight black hair. Cautiously walking around the man and taking a seat in the chair next to him, Troy immediately recognized the person once he his profile was exposed to him.

"Jimmie?"

The man looked over at Troy with a petrified expression, "Wow," He began to speak nervously, the shock still apparent in his wide, brown eyes, "No one has called me since high school. But yeah, it's me." He said, averting his embarrassed eyes from Troy's intrigued gaze.

"What are you doing in here?" Troy questioned him in total surprise.

"That's very naïve, Troy," Jimmie laughed uncomfortably. "Probably the same reason you are."

"But…" For a moment, Troy was completely lost for words, his mind struggling to take in the current rock of information life just struck him with. "You're  _Rocket Man_!"

"And you're  _Bolton_ ," Jimmie shot back defensively. "What's your point?"

"I'm sorry. It's just…this is so unexpected." Troy's blue eyes scanned Jimmie's face, which didn't look terribly older since the last time they saw each other apart from the short stubble on his jaw. "You were my prodigy at East High. I just never thought of you in a place like here. I'm shocked is all."

"Really?" Jimmie asked with a disbelieving scoff.

"Yeah," Troy chuckled in agreement. Troy could barely hear the counselor and the others enter through his spaced out daze with his eyes glued on Jimmie.

Finally, the counselor demanded his attention with her loud, high pitched voice saying, "Good morning, everyone!" She had a short bob of bright orange hair cut off just above her emerald green eyes. The few freckles on her sharp cheekbones complimented her light skin tone. Her clipboard of plans rested on top of her pencil-skirt covered knees. "Today, we'll start off with introductions as usual, then we'll watch a short film on addiction and medication, and we'll end the session with a group activity."

...

Jason sadly commented, "This feels weird," with his downcast eyes sheltered behind his long, dark brown hair as his head hung low.

"I know," Zeke responded empathetically, patting Jason on the shoulder in hopes of raising his spirits. "But it's what's best for him. Hopefully he'll be back before we know it!"

Jason looked up into Zeke's eyes; some light returned to them as he optimistically replied, "True. He could have been sent in for longer."

"That's very possible." Chad added. He hadn't entertained the thought before, but Troy may very well take much longer in rehab than anticipated. Or worse, he could even resist their treatment entirely. It was a complete mystery what would happen with Troy in the next two months and Chad didn't like that feeling whatsoever.

Chad peered off into the distance; his eyebrows dipped low in concentration, Meanwhile, Jason's hopeful words bounced off the walls of the conference room, "He could even get out earlier!"

"Sorry I'm late!" A new voice interrupted Jason's. The others turned to see their fellow team member Ryan enter the room.

"Hey," Chad greeted Ryan somberly.

"Hey," Ryan responded gently while tossing his brief case onto the table to take out his materials. Noticing the grave shade cast over his friend's face, Ryan asked Chad, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," He sighed unconvincingly. Ryan's unwavering concerned expression urged Chad to continue, so he did, "I'm just anxious about what's going on with him right now. It's weird not knowing about what he's doing and not being with him. We haven't been apart for more than two months since..." He let out a labored sigh and glanced to the ceiling in thought, "I don't think we've ever been apart for this long, actually. We even studied abroad in Japan and New Zealand together during our undergrad. We were just inseparable."

"Chad, you need to realize that he's with professionals." Ryan turned himself in his chair sideways to face Chad as he reasoned, "He's actually safer with them than he would be here. We couldn't stop him from doing what he did. They can. They will help him in ways that we can't. He needs to be with  _them_ right now, not with you."

"Yeah," Wishing Ryan's words had raised his mood more than it actually did, Chad struggled to look hopeful as he softly replied, "you're right." Swallowing roughly, Chad distracted himself by opening browsers and tabs on his laptop aimlessly.

"Hey," Ryan's gentle voice was barely audible as he laid a warm hand on Chad's sleeve, demanding his full attention.

It wasn't that Chad didn't appreciate Ryan's help; rather, he was frustrated that he needed it at all in the first place. He wished that he wasn't put in this situation to begin with. He wished that his best friend didn't need to be worried about. He wished that he wasn't where he was right now and the only thing he wanted now was a distraction. A proposal. A client. A blank word document, for crying out loud! But Ryan was bringing him back into the dreaded reality. With his patience wearing thin, he snapped, "What?"

Slightly taken back, but nevertheless undeterred, Ryan said, "He's going to be okay."

It must have been something in Ryan's confidence in the best possible scenario that made Chad consider for just a moment that maybe, just maybe, Troy would be. For a blissful moment, the worry and weight of Troy's addiction was removed from Chad's fatigued shoulders. When suddenly…

"Bolton with an addiction!" The man announced to the room as he entered, his skinny, long legs stomping across the floor as he continued, "Who would have thought? I believe I did, actually. Not to say I told you so, but…c'mon!" He laughed alone at his words as Jason, Chad, Ryan, and Zeke sent him hateful glares.

Chad rose from his seat and walked up to Blake, "What is your problem, you inconsiderate jackass?"

"Whoa, did he die or something?" Black raised his open hands up by his shoulders in defense.

Zeke spoke, "No," annoyed yet calmly, "He's just in rehab."

"Then what's up with all this damn sensitivity?" Blake scoffed.

Jason spoke up from his place across the table, "He's our friend!"

"Well," Blake began as he made his way around the table to a seat next to Jason, "What good friends you are, then."

Unsure of exactly what Blake was insinuating, Chad opened his mouth to challenge Blake to dare repeat his words, when his father and Jack entered the conference room along with three other older business men.

"Good morning, young lads!" One of the older three men greeted them with a thick Irish accent.

"Top of the mornin' to ya!" Blake proudly exclaimed in a mocking accent. To this, Jack and Charlie sent him warning looks. Blake brought his pinched fingers up to his mouth and dragged them across his closed lips, and then pretended to lock them.

From his seat across from Blake, Chad sent him a seething glare for his playful, almost celebratory attitude in wake of Troy's rehab.

Charlie addressed the room "Alright, this morning we will all be collaborating on the Chicago Holiday Inn account. After that is dismissed, we will part our ways and continue on with our team's work. As I'm sure you're all already aware, Jack will be leading our secondary team, and I will be leading the primary for the next couple months due to a temporary leave of absence. Without further ado, let's begin."

...

"So whatever happened to Donny?" Troy asked in curiosity to Jimmie as the rest of the group left, the sound of sobs from the emotional session finally ceasing.

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest." Jimmie responded while stretching out his jean-covered, long legs in front of him.

"Don't you guys stay in touch?" Troy lifted his chair up underneath himself and scooted over in front of Jimmie to speak more face-to-face.

"It's hard to. Life gets in the way." Jimmie said with nonchalant shrug, but a certain regret in his eyes as they fell down to the floor spoke differently.

"Sure, but you guys were inseparable in high school." Troy pushed the matter further.

"That kind of all fell apart when I started hanging out with another crowd in college." Jimmie continued to reminisce while casually crossing his arms over his chest, "They were all partiers and Donny wanted to keep his nose clean. So he refused to hang out with me if they were around. I thought he was just being jealous at the time, but now look at where we are. Maybe he was just looking out for me," The regret in his tone was no longer concealable as the indifference in his voice was exchanged for genuine remorse, "Damn, hindsight really is twenty-twenty."

After a short pause, Jimmie batted the thought away with a wave of his hand and said, "Anyway. That's enough about me. It's my turn to play Barbara Walters." Jimmie picked one of his long legs up and rested its ankle on the other knee. Loosely folding his hands over his lap and peering intently at Troy, he encapsulated a perfect interviewer. He began to question, "With your college performance and already having teams fighting for you as a sophomore, why the hell didn't you and the other wildcats go pro?"

"My knees hurt." Troy answered plainly and they shared a short laugh, "Really though," Troy continued, "Professional basket ball would require a lot of traveling. I had a girlfriend who I planned to settle down with and have a family. So a near-by job was a necessity." Troy concluded, "That's why I didn't go pro. I can't speak for why the others were dumb enough to follow me to the firm, however."

"If it's any consolation, pro isn't all the glamour it's cracked up to be."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there aren't as many free lap dances as you'd think."

"Nice," Troy chuckled.

"Seriously, I'm thinking about getting out of it soon. The whole party scene behind it has really tainted the sport for me."

"Well, here's a nice incentive for you," Troy bargained. "If you get yourself cleaned up and somehow find yourself interested in architecture, give me a call and I'm sure we can set something up."

"I'll keep it in mind, thank you."

"No problem. The firm could always use another Wildcat."

"Wildcat?" A familiar voice said from behind them, causing duo to jump and turn around.

"Rocket Man?" Chad gasped as Jason, Ryan, and Zeke entered the room behind him.

"Hey," Jimmie replied quietly. Zeke, Ryan, and Chad looked around the small, plain room at nothing in particular uncomfortably. Needless to say, this was not the most ideal place to run into an old classmate.

Jason, on the other hand, looked elated to run into his late teammate, "Rocket Man! What have you been up to, man?" The awkward question hanged in the air for a moment while Jason still had a dumb, excited smile plastered on his face, oblivious to the inappropriateness of his question.

"Jason," Zeke quietly sighed, exasperated. Meanwhile, Chad just face-palmed in embarrassment and frustration.

"What?" Jason asked.

Troy apologized for the interruption, "I'm sorry. You know how he is."

"It's alright," Jimmie said. "I'll give you guys some space."

Troy nodded to Jimmie in farewell as his three sheepishly entered further into the room.

"You guys can sit if you want." Troy offered.

Chad responded quickly, his voice nervous with his hands buried deep into his pockets anxiously, "We won't be long."

"Oh," Troy said, his tone slightly disheartened. He stood from his chair and walked behind it towards the guys. "I didn't know you guys were coming."

Zeke explained, "Just wanted to make sure you got settled in well."

"Well, here I am. Settled."

Jason stated casually, "That's good."

An awkward silence lingered in the air before Troy finally broke it, saying, "So, is that it?"

Chad said, "I suppose so. Unless," he shifted his weight to his other side, the discomfort for the situation still written on his face and movements, "I don't know…you wanted to talk?"

"I just did an hour of that." Troy shook his head decidedly, "So not really, no."

Zeke said, "Well, if you ever want to, you know how the cliché goes."

"Got it. Thanks, guys."

"No problem." Chad said as he spun on his heel towards the door in a quick fashion.

Jason said, "Hope you feel better," with a cheeky smile as he exited right behind Chad.

Troy waved goodbye to Ryan, and then turned around to push his chair back into the circle.

"Troy," Ryan spoke as he walked closer to Troy.

"Yeah, man?"

"Look," He glanced behind him to ensure nobody else was within earshot, then quietly, he spoke, "Chad's really concerned."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

A tense moment passed as Troy's eyes glared at Ryan's challengingly before Ryan continued, "You didn't see him earlier today. He's holding it in well now. But he's really,  _really_ concerned. I mean, we all are. But you know, you two have always been the closest."

"Ryan," Troy raised a flat palm to him as he shook his head, "I know Chad." He said confidently, "I know he's concerned. Okay?"

Determined, Ryan pressed on, "I just wanted to make sure that you know that you're not the only one affected by this. You're not the only one you're hurting by being an alcoholic."

"Alright." Troy responded, not restricting the annoyance in his tone at all as he turned his back and crossed the room away from Ryan, evidently finished with their conversation.

"See ya later then," Ryan mumbled in defeat as he left.

Troy's eyes peered out the window and fell on a fellow patient as he flopped his chubby body into the outdoor pool with a splash. Not too far off, a counselor relaxed by the pool while reading the newest edition of a high fashion magazine. Two more patients were situated underneath the patio's cover, playing chess just right outside of his window.

His finer tips gently brushed over the thin layer of dust on the window seal as stroked the wooden frame. Flicking over the window's lock, he then cranked it open a just few inches. A warm, humid gust of wind maneuvered its way into the crisp, air-conditioned room. Breathing in the air from the Los Angeles suburbs was significantly lighter than that of the murky inner city air. It reminded him of what it was like to breathe in _real_  fresh air, laced with the subtle earthiness of roasting campfires and dewy fallen leaves. Regardless of how clean and refreshing the air was that day, Troy could barely breathe the entire duration of the funeral.

Suddenly, saving him from the dark, resurfacing memories, he heard a crying woman entering the room. He turned around and immediately recognized the woman, "Mom?"

"Troy!" Lucile yelped out.

"Mom," he didn't sound comforting, but rather demanding as he said, "You don't need to cry."

The two met in the center of the room when suddenly, Lucile wrapped her arms around her son caringly. Troy was almost rigid underneath her embrace, evidently uncomfortable with the situation and attention.

"Oh  _Troy_ ," Lucile spoke dismissively of his distant demeanor. "What ever happened?" Her hands gently lied over either side of Troy's face to gather his full attention. Her blue eyes, red where they should be white, pierced into his nearly identical eyes with intent and love. "What ever happened to my little baby boy?"

"Mother," He coldly spoke, grabbing her hands by the wrists and pulling her arms down to her sides, "Don't be so melodramatic."

"I'm worried sick about you! I'm your  _mom_ , Troy. I care about you!" She said, the actual worry gone from her voice and replaced with defense.

"Well, I'm fine," he said dismissively. "So there's nothing to worry about."

"That's such a lie, Troy!" She yelled in frustration for her son's rejection of her care and concern, "Stop acting like you're okay because obviously you're not or you wouldn't be in here. Alcoholics are not  _fine_  by definition."

Troy rolled his eyes at her words and begged, "Can you just stop making everything some big scene?"

"This isn't drama, Troy!" She snapped. The patience and love she once held in her worried eyes traded for fury as she reprimanded him, "This is  _emotion_. Try showing a little sometime. You can't just deny them or chase them away with a bottle!"

"Oh my God, mom," he shook his head in disapproval. "You're so loud and theatrical, it's giving me a headache."

"You know what, Troy," Lucile began, the disappointment thick in her tone. "You push everyone further and further away everyday, Troy."

"No, it's not  _everyone_. Anyway, I think visiting hours are over." Troy impatiently hinted for her to leave.

"Like father like son," Lucile gave her one final shot before leaving.

...

As he lay motionless in the dark room, his muscles slowly relaxing beneath the warm blankets, and he entertained the thought. If he were really being honest with himself, he could admit it was true. He was actively pushing his mother away and today was proof of that. But she was the one who abandoned him first. She filed for the divorce all those years ago, moved out, and relocated hours away from him and her ex-husband. It was she who started this distance, who commenced severing their attachment. And now she shows up in tears and expects to be welcomed back into his life with open arms?

Out of curiosity, Troy glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand after he felt that he was pondering far too much into the night. To much of his surprise and disappointment, the clock illuminated the numbers  _2:31AM_ into his squinting, dry eyes. Habitually, Troy's mouth suddenly felt dry and yearned for nothing else beside a long swig of whiskey to quench his thirst and lull him off to sleep.

 _3:49AM_. Troy repositioned himself and flipped around restlessly beneath the messy bundle of blankets. Grunts of frustration escaped from his dry mouth and into the warm pillow as his cravings for a drink grew stronger. But rolling around his bed and whining about his situation wouldn't make alcohol suddenly appear for him to enjoy, or rather, abuse. With the clock quickly approaching  _4:00AM_ , Troy's harmful cravings were finally washed away by pure exhaustion. His body finally allowed relaxed into a deep sleep without the aid of alcohol for was the first time in nearly half a year.


	8. Gabriella: Part One

_ January 9th, 2016. _ _  
Saturday. _

The typically blinding Los Angeles sun timidly hides behind its horizon as the citizens enjoy just a few more minutes of darkness before its rays blanket the land with an encompassing daybreak. For one Miss. Gabriella Montez, however, her rejuvenating slumber has not even started as the sun prepares its upcoming ascension from behind the massive stretch of land.

"To art!" The two roughly clank their sturdy shot glasses together as though they were unbreakable. After a hard smack against the thick wooden bar, they quickly toss back their final toast of the night.

"Yeah!" Her small, pale, brown haired company slurs, "Let's do one more!"

"No way, Kelsi! Are you crazy?" Gabriella mumbles in protest, pressing her hands firmly down on the wooden bar in front of her for support as she stands to leave, "I can't be too hung over tomorrow." She softly drags her limp fingers across the back of Kelsi's barstool as she crosses behind her towards the exit.

"You're no fun, Gabriella!" Kelsi, still sitting at the bar, shouts over the loud hum of glasses clanking, gossiping people, and music at her departing friend.

Gabriella stops in her tracks as the challenging words strike her ears. Stumbling about as she spins around to face her friend again, Gabriella shouts back, "You know what, Kelsi?"

"What?" Kelsi murmurs boringly, leaning onto her elbows on the bar.

"It's not everyday we sell every single art piece!" Gabriella declares victoriously at the top of her lungs. Her heeled boots land in heavy, uncoordinated stomps on the wooden floor as she stumbles her way back to the bar.

"No, it's not!" Kelsi laughs in agreement while lazily waving over the bartender. "Bartender!" She barks over the soundtrack of the other patrons and loud, vibrating bass, "Two more shots of your strongest poison!"

...

Her hand loosely grips onto the pillow situated beneath her heavy head. Reluctant to wake up, her eyelids remain tightly shut to keep any light from entering into her sensitive eyes. Against her hopes, she soon regains complete consciousness accompanied with a massive headache that feels as though a hundred pounds of bricks were placed on her head.

A voice orders impatiently from above her, "Drink this." She hears the soft clank of a glass being set down on the coffee table near her.

"Where am I?" She asks, the pain evident in her raspy, dry voice.

The voice answers simply, "Living room."

"How did I get here?" Gabriella murmurs, still disoriented, while gently rubbing her eyes.

"Wow," The voice begins with a louder enunciation than before, "I wake up at  _four thirty in the morning_  to pick up you and your friend from some shady bar and you can't even remember it?" The voice jokingly scoffs with a rough edge of disappointment.

Wincing at every loud syllable, Gabriella buries her head into the pillow in hopes of muffling the sound.

"I suppose that's the thanks I get being a good friend," the voice continues its tease.

"You'd be an even  _better_  friend if you got me a trash can," Gabriella groans.

After a long sigh, there's a shuffling sound of a trashcan scooting close to her. Finally opening her eyes to spot the can, Gabriella leans over the couch beneath her to throw up into the lined plastic bin. She sees the pair of ugly, yet incredibly comfortable white nursing shoes shuffle backwards away from her she empties her stomach's contents into the trash.

"I'm guessing it was a good night, eh?" The dark skinned, twenty-something, apron-covered woman asks while looking away from the spewing Gabriella.

"The best," Gabriella informs her between pauses to vomit, "You should have seen the turn out, Taylor. We sold them  _all_." She lazily brings up a limp hand to wipe her lips off on the back of it.

"Really?" Taylor asks, sounding both impressed and repulsed. Impressed with the sales, repulsed by the vomiting.

"Yeah," Gabriella speaks shortly before another wave of vomit steals her voice. Finally, the vomiting ceases and Gabriella sits up on the couch before sipping on the large glass of water. As Taylor takes away the trashcan to toss, Gabriella calls after her, "And thank you, Taylor. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Probably in a jail cell with a DUI." Taylor shouts back matter-of-factly from her place at the trash shoot.

"Thankfully not yet." Gabriella states appreciatively as Taylor makes her way back to the couch, "Really,  _thank you_. You're the best, most patient, most responsible friend I have."

"Well, thank  _you_  for your appreciation. And you're…" Taylor plops down next to Gabriella, "well, you're something else, aren't you?"

"Taylor?" Gabriella begins curiously, being distracted by something on Taylor. "What's with the apron?"

"Oh," She glances down at the grease-covered apron hanging over her pajamas as though she had totally forgotten about it. "You mean this? I'm making food for the homeless shelter. Something technically  _we_  were supposed to do since you promised we'd do it together last week, but I decided to let you sleep in."

"Again, thank you."

"But you're not getting out of coming with me to deliver the food. I really do need your help with that."

"Of course!" Gabriella slowly leans forward to stand, her joints cracking and popping audibly in the process, "I volunteer be your little servant for today to make up for this morning."

After a moment of consideration, Taylor quickly nods and says in agreement, "Deal."

...

Wielding a massive trenta Starbucks cup in her hand and shading her eyes behind an equally enormous pair of sunglasses, Gabriella cautiously purses her chapped lips and blows on the steaming hot coffee.

"At work last night…" Taylor begins, creating some small talk between the two of them in the otherwise silent car as they drive downtown, "There was this ancient woman in my wing who apparently had loose bowl movements hours before my shift began. Did any of the other nurses care to tell me this or write it in her patient notes? Nope! So I'm not checking in on her as regularly as I should have been. I realize this as I complete one of my hourly checks and open the door to this woman…I kid you not… _ass naked_." Taylor pauses until Gabriella's laughing dwindles, then continues, "She was covered in diarrhea."

"Gross!" Gabriella's amused expression is suddenly switched for one of repulsion, "That's enough detail for me."

"The smell was like-"

"Please!" Gabriella begs, "Taylor, I'm already nauseous enough."

"Okay, okay." A short silence lingers in the air between the two until Taylor concludes, "I just wanted you to know how my night with someone's poop-glazed great grandmother went while you and Kelsi apparently banked in on your art."

"Actually…" Gabriella thinks to tell her best friend about how the biggest seller, her Bolton Tower piece, would not be profited from because of Troy's donation, but thinks better of it. "Never mind."

"What?" Taylor asks, glancing over at Gabriella with her dark eyes narrowing in on her suspiciously.

"Nothing." Gabriella attempts to sound passive, but the words fall out nervous and extremely secretive.

" _Nothing_? C'mon, you  _have_ to tell me whatever you're trying to hide." After her request is only met with silence, Taylor attempts to lure out Gabriella's secret by saying, "I know you really,  _really_  want to tell me."

"All my buyers are promised anonymity," Gabriella says apologetically. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"When has that ever stopped you from telling me something before?" Taylor argues.

"True."

"So dish, Gabriella!"

"Before you freak out…" Gabriella shakes her head and mumbles underneath her breath, "I can't believe I'm telling you this." Then lets out a heavy sigh and spills, "You remember Troy?"

"Troy who?"

"The one from my work. You know," the corners of her lips twitch up into a cute smile at the thought of him before continuing, "the cute, funny one I told you about?"

"Oh yeah! But what does your exhibit have to do with your work crush?"

"Well, I invited him to the exhibit and he found my piece of his father's building. He wanted to buy it, but I didn't want to sell to him because it just felt weird to make him pay for it. So we agreed that he could name the price and the profits would go to charity. He says 'fifteen', and I'm like 'fifteen hundred sounds great!' Tay…" She pauses until Taylor looks over at her, "Guess how much his check for The Red Cross was."

"Fifteen hundred." Taylor states confidently, proud of herself for paying attention to the numbers mentioned earlier in the story.

"Fifteen  _thousand_."

Taylor, at a complete loss for words, dumbly opens and closes her mouth while her mind struggles to process the information. Finally coming to terms, she makes one important conclusion, "He likes you."

Slightly taken back and insulted, Gabriella states defensively, "I'd like to think people appreciate and support my art without doing so just to get into my pants,  _thank you_." With her arms crossed over her chest angrily, Gabriella frowns out of her passenger window.

"Gabi, no! That's not what I meant whatsoever. I just mean…Of course your art is worth that much! I'm just- Maybe I am reading too far into it, but he had to have known you'd see the check."

"So?"

" _So_ …He obviously bought the art because he loved it. Don't misunderstand me there, Gabi. I'm just saying that maybe  _at the same time_ he wanted to impress you."

"Oh." Gabriella softly says understandingly, "I guess that's a possibility."

As Gabriella ponders the idea and becomes lost in thought, Taylor flips on the pop radio station and hums along peacefully until they finally reach the brick building of the homeless shelter.

...

Slowly, the girls unload the heavy cart plate by plate onto a slightly tilted, old, wooden table at the far end of the large cafeteria.

"Jesus, Tay!" Gabriella exclaims as she rearranges some plates to make more room for the countless others yet to be transferred. "How early did you get up to make all of this?"

"Let's just say that I took a  _short_  nap after picking you and Kelsi up." Taylor responds while stacking plates of assorted cookies.

"Taylor!" The fragile voice of an elderly woman with a thick, nasally Jersey accent exclaims.

Gabriella follows the sound of the voice to see a heavy-set, old woman approaching the table with what looks like every necklace she owns draped from her neck.

Taylor gasps excitedly while quickly crossing around the table and into an embrace with the old woman, saying, "Teresa! I haven't seen you in weeks! How was New Jersey?"

"Difficult to leave." Teresa states sadly, her face hung low in an expression of pain from behind years of wrinkles and age spots. "I just miss my family, but they didn't seem to miss me."

"I'm sorry," Taylor rubs Teresa's back lovingly and consoles her; "At least you know you'll always have me here in LA."

"Oh Taylor, you should have a family of your own to be there for!"

After a short snort of a laugh, Taylor glances back at Gabriella to say, "Here we go again."

"Well I wouldn't have to keep telling you if you'd listen to me. You need to get yourself a husband! Your eggs aren't getting any fresher, you know!"

"Okay," Taylor states, not yet convinced to be in a rush to find a husband like Teresa wants. Suddenly, the annoying screech of an oven timer going off sounds somewhere in the kitchen, and Taylor quickly shuffles to the back.

"That girl is all work and volunteering," Teresa states disapprovingly to Gabriella.

"She loves her job," Gabriella defends. "She wants to make sure she establishes a solid career for herself before worrying about a family."

"A career can't hold you in its muscular arms before you lull off to sleep after a night of rough…" then, she quickly murmurs in a low, barely audible voice, "…you know what…But hey, maybe that's where I went wrong. I married and had babies without the slightest consideration for how to pay for them or myself for that matter. Forty years later and my kids still resent me, and I'm without a home of my own. Maybe Taylor is actually going about it the right way…but never tell her I said that."

"Will do." Gabriella then resumes her process of unloading the cart.

Meanwhile, Teresa studies over Gabriella and makes the observation, "I can tell by the nakedness of your fingers that you're without a man as well."

Gabriella's long, curled locks of dark brown hair bounce about as she nods in response.

"How is that possible? You're simply gorgeous! Don't tell me you're a workaholic like Taylor."

"Not at all!" Gabriella admits, putting down the one of the last trays of cookies, "but there is one guy  _at work_ I'm kind of interested in."

"Does he like you back?"

"I don't know." Gabriella sheepishly shrugs.

"Yes!" Taylor yells from the back.

Gabriella clarifies, "Taylor thinks so, I don't."

As opposed to responding, Teresa patiently lets her green eyes to scan over Gabriella, waiting for her to continue.

"I mean," Gabriella proceeds, "Troy's super kind and approachable." Her eyes hover above Teresa's head while she thinks of him and a soft, yet completely visible smirk finds its way onto her face. "I love talking with him, which is odd because I'm usually so reserved." As the smirk begins to fade, her normal, kind expression takes its usual spot, "He bought one of my art pieces for an absurd amount of money." She explains, "It all went to charity, but I saw the check of course. I'm not really sure of what to think of that, honestly."

"Oh honey," Teresa shakes her head warningly, "stay away from those types."

"Why?" Gabriella asks curiously.

"Men who believe they can buy your attention are bad news. He's more interested in getting your  _attention_ than you as a person."

"I don't think it's like that at all." Gabriella states unconfidently with a strong air of hesitation, as though she's trying to convince herself of it, too. After what Taylor said to her in the car about Troy's gesture, Gabriella has become increasingly more suspicious about Troy and his interest in her.

Teresa taps her lower lip with a long fingernail in consideration before saying, "I could be wrong. It wouldn't be the first time, dear." After a short chuckle, she warns Gabriella, "Just don't be surprised if you someday find out his intentions are superficial, or strictly for his own benefit."

"I don't know what he'd have to take advantage of in me." Gabriella states casually, "I don't really have anything he can take advantage of."

After dramatically rolling her bright emerald eyes, Teresa impatiently and almost angrily suggests, "Why don't you get a real perspective of yourself, Gabriella?"

"I have one!" Gabriella states defensively, "I know who I am."

"Obviously you don't if you really think you have nothing someone else would want for themselves. From what I've seen in these short minutes talking to you, you have just as much as anyone else and not a bit less. You're beautiful, kind, intelligent, and apparently an absurdly impressive artist. That's a lot of social currency for a man like Troy to get ahold of."

"Thanks," Gabriella smiles warmly at Teresa's compliments. "But I'd rather have faith in people that they wouldn't use me for my positive attributes."

"You can have faith, but don't confuse it with being plain naïve."

Taylor apologizes while approaching the two again, "Sorry about that! What did I miss?"

...

"That Teresa is one wickedly smart woman." Gabriella states admiringly as the line slowly progresses forward towards the front counter inside the deliciously smelling Qdoba.

"Yeah, most of the people there are obviously materially poor, but they are wealthy in life experience. We're supposed to teach them about budgeting and job searching, but they end up teaching us incredibly more important things, really."

A deep voice says from behind them, "Gabriella?"

"Chad!" Gabriella greets him warmly with a hug.

"Hey! What's going on?"

"Oh, we're just grabbing some lunch after some volunteering."

"Volunteering?" Chad asks in surprise, "Wow, that's great of you to do!"

"Thanks, but I'm only there because of her. She's the _real_  volunteer. This is my roommate and best friend, Taylor McKessie."

"Taylor, nice to meet you." Chad offers out a hand to Taylor.

"Nice to meet you too, Chad." Taylor shakes his hand while never breaking her eyes away from his welcoming, light brown eyes.

"So, you volunteer?"

"Yep! Every Saturday."

"I wish I had time to do it, but I'm kind of a workaholic." Chad admits from behind a small smile.

"We create our own schedules." Taylor informs him kindly, "I'm very busy too, being a nurse. So usually I make food for them in my house then bring it to them because then I'm doing it around my busy schedule."

"You cook, too? Man, you're just the whole package, aren't you?" Chad nudges Taylor on the elbow.

After a cute giggle, Taylor quietly responds, "I wouldn't know about that," and attempts to hide a massive smile on her face in vain.

Gabriella watches the two interact with an enormous excitement bursting about inside of her. Typically, Taylor writes all men off and acts very standoffish. However, Chad seems to have broken down her wall in just a few moments. It's probably too soon to tell, but something about the way the two are acting now tells Gabriella that there is some serious potential between them.


	9. Gabriella: Part Two

_January 11th, 2016.  
Monday._

" _Fishnets_?" Tiara scoffs, inattentively stirring the granola and fruit bits into her low-fat yogurt while her judgmental eyes scan up and down the approaching female figure, "Did I miss a memo for an eighties theme this week?"

"Ha!" Sharpay laughs at the ridiculing statement regarding the poor colleague without a sense of fashion, "Tell me about it."

"To think these people believe they have style!" Tiara begins, an exasperation hanging from her heavy English accent, "It's just incomprehensible!"

"Oh God," Sharpay rolls her eyes once she catches sight of another person walking down the long hall towards their spot lingering in the break room's doorframe. "This one takes the cake," she comments with a hint of amusement behind the crooked, gloss-covered smirk on her lips.

Tiara whips her head around and lays eyes on the ridiculous sight. It takes every inch of self-control for her to not explode into hysterical laughter as uncontrollable giggles bubble out of her hand-covered lips, "Where do you even find a maroon, plaid suit?"

"And that  _bowtie_!" Sharpay exclaims, "It's enormous!"

"It's like…so horrific that I can't look away."

Once the person in question is within earshot, the two cease their criticism and greet him with a fake enthusiasm. They say in a near perfect unison, "Good morning, Jason!"

Jason, completely oblivious to their guilty faces, murmurs, "Morning."

"Whoa…" Tiara says in an impressed tone. Her eyebrows rising from their usual spot on her face in an expression of surprise, "He's…" She begins, watching the toned backside of a male's figure walking away from their spot.

"Firm," Sharpay pitches in, her eyes also finding Tiara's current interest.

Suddenly, a petite woman with an olive complexion materializes from around the corner. She begins to walk in the opposite direction of the man, towards Tiara and Sharpay in the break room. Once she finally glances up at the man, an immediate look of recognition flashes across her big, brown eyes and a polite smile appears on her face. Pausing her walk for just a moment, the man gently wraps his fingers around the back of her cotton covered elbow as he leans down and whispers something so sweet into her ear that a soft blush appears on her cheeks.

Tiara declares, "That scarf doesn't match her shirt."

Sharpay breaks her eyes away from the duo to nod her head in agreement at Tiara.

After the two finish their short exchange, they continue on in their respective directions. After a few steps forward down the hall, the man twists his head around at the woman with a respectful admiration glistening off his eyes. Once he faces forward again, she does the same to him, neither seeing the other's mirrored movement. However, Tiara and Sharpay could witness the entire event from their place.

"Um," Tiara groans in a slight panic as the woman, Gabriella Montez, smiles at her kindly while approaching the break room.

"Hello!" Gabriella chirps happily, the blush finally starting to fade from her encounter with Troy.

"Hi," Sharpay greets her.

"Umm," Gabriella pauses awkwardly, then slowly lifts her hand out to point at the small space between the two, "May I enter?" She asks.

Tiara says, "Yes! I'm Sorry, we didn't mean to block the entry."

"It's okay," Gabriella giggles before crossing into the small break room and pouring herself a cup of steaming coffee from the stained pot, humming along joyously to a tune in her head.

"I'm Sharpay!" Sharpay exclaims with a faux friendliness and obnoxious smile that Gabriella can see right through. "And this is Tiara, who are you?"  
"Gabriella Montez. I'm the new draft illustrator here."

"I see…" After sharing a sideways glance with Tiara, Sharpay continues, "Tell me, Gabriella, do you know Troy Bolton?" She asks.

"Of course I do," Gabriella comments casually while sliding a sleeve onto her cup. "We work together."

"I meant did you know him? Before you started working here, specifically."

"Nope," Gabriella answers.

"That's surprising," Sharpay comments before bringing up a glass of water to take a long swig, still eyeing Gabriella suspiciously.

A short lull in conversation occurs before Gabriella asks, "Why?" out of pure curiosity.

"He definitely knew you," Sharpay says with a small laugh.

"Really?" Gabriella asks, stirring in some sugar and creamer with a communal spoon.

"Oh yeah, I heard he was a big fan," Tiara chips in. "He would've done  _anything_  to get you on the team."

"What do you mean?" Gabriella asks cautiously, unsure if she really wanted to ask the question in the first place, or remain in the dark. Doing 'anything' to get her to work at the firm could include gaining her romantic interest.

"Well, this is only what I  _heard_ , of course," Tiara disclaims. "But word around town is that Bolton was desperate for a renowned artist."

"I can't believe that," Gabriella says, shaking her head while tossing the spoon into the sink with a loud clank and turning to leave.

Sharpay quickly explains as Gabriella stops to listen, "Well, it was a mystery as to why less and less clients were coming over from Brown and Associates. They used to be the easiest competition. After clients weren't impressed with Brown, they'd come running over here faster than a ten year old chases an ice cream truck. Then suddenly, that all stopped. They won over almost every one of their clients and we were losing a ton of potential accounts because of it."

Tiara chimes in with secretiveness apparent in her quiet voice, almost as soft as a whisper, "Then word got out about Brown's secret. They were hiring professional artists to create impressive, high quality drafts of their proposed buildings. It was impossible for the clients to turn down the professional sketches and drafts. Bolton wanted to do the same thing."

Gabriella concludes, "and that's why they needed me," the realization violently hitting her. The immense feelings of disappointment and betrayal tug at her sickened stomach and pull at her watering eyes.

"Exactly. Troy's been really going all out trying to keep you here," Tiara laughs humorously.

"Yeah, I haven't seen him look so clean since his ex-wife was here to groom him," Sharpay jokes as Tiara cackles along with her.

Gabriella barely caught the last line before bolting out of the room, abandoning her fresh cup of coffee on the counter. The cubicles lining up either side of her rushing figure become blurred together as the tears forming in her reddened eyes impair her vision. A few concerned faces glance up from their work once one uncontrollable sob escapes from behind the cupped hand on her mouth.

Closing the large wooden bathroom door behind her, she quickly flips the lock and leans her forehead against the door, pressing her flat palms against it as well. Any attempt to keep herself together prove futile as her lips begin quivering uncontrollably and tears stream from her eyes without abandon.

She spins around and pressing her back against the door, she slowly slides downs it until she finds herself sitting on the tiled floor. Stretching out her leg, she reaches into her pant pocket and removes her phone.

With her hands still shaking and her vision blurred from the tears, she struggles to dial the one person who can help her in this moment of distress.

"Hello?" The voice answers, sounding confused to be receiving a call.

"Tay…" Gabriella lets out weakly.

"What's wrong, Gabi?" Taylor asks, concern thick in her tone.

"Teresa was right," Gabriella sniffles.

"What do you mean?"

"Teresa warned me that Troy was looking out for his interests in gaining my attention. She was right. They needed an artist like me desperately. Troy's been using me for my art. He's not genuinely interested at all. It's all been a ploy to keep me here."

"Oh, honey. I'm so,  _so_ terribly sorry."

"I'm so stupid."

"No you're not, Gabi!  _He's_  the stupid one. Some guy taking advantage of you says nothing about your intelligence or character, but it says everything about his. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't let this ass keep you away from love forever. You could easily find another guy to like a ton who's going to like you tons back."

"I know." Gabriella smiles softly, some hope regained and confidence rebuilt from just hearing those few words from Taylor.

"Alright. Feel better, sweetie. I got to get back to work, but I promise you we can talk about this tonight over tubs of ice cream."

"That sounds good. Thank you, Tay."

"Anytime."

Gabriella breathes in before letting all of it out with one hearty sigh.  _I can't let this get to me._  She tells herself,  _I can't let him reduce me to tears at work. It's too unprofessional. Just get through the rest of today,_ She promises herself, _then after work we can cry about it all we want on the drive home._

Quickly rising from the bathroom floor, she runs her palms over her waist and down to her hips to readjust her outfit. After a quick check in the mirror, some hair repositioning and cheek wiping, she exits the bathroom.

...

Zeke says, "I seriously watched the first two and half seasons of House of Cards this weekend. You'd never guess it'd be something that I like, being a political drama and all."

"That sounds boring as hell." Jason remarks, leaning back lazily in his chair, the oversized plaid suit making him stand out like a sore thumb between the four well dressed others. "So I'm actually not surprised you like it, Zeke."

"Say what you want, it's beautifully shot and has a captivating storyline. You never know what Frank is going to do next."

"Yeah, yeah," Jason dismisses the topic with a wave of his hand. "Well I preferred to spend my weekend playing Call of Duty."

"Don't you do that every night, too?" Zeke asks.

Chad reminds them, "During the weekdays, don't forget."

Troy adds, "At work, even."

"Okay! I get it. I play C.O.D. a lot, so what?"

Chad says with a smirk, "You could have been out meeting girls, like yours truly."

"What girl could you have met, Danforth?" Ryan asks with a doubtful tone.

"Gabriella's roommate Taylor," Chad responds proudly.

"I didn't know Gabriella had a roommate," Troy responds casually, but his quickening heart rate at the feeling of her name escaping his lips puts audible strain to his voice.

Zeke gasps mockingly before asking, "Oh no, is that a deal breaker, Troy?" teasingly.

"Shut up," Troy says jokingly with a chuckle. "It'd be too messy dating someone at the firm, anyways. We'd have to get HR involved and it'd just be…messy."

"Oh yeah," Chad pitches in, "like you're  _actually_  concerned with professionalism at the firm. You're just afraid of being rejected."

Zeke interjects, "Which is stupid. Just ask her out. She's not going to say no."

Troy asks earnestly, "Won't she?"

Jason says, "If you really don't think she likes you back, you're more oblivious than me."

"Wait, you guys really think she'd say yes?"

All of them respond, "Yes!"

Looking around at the others and realizing the sincerity in their words, Troy suddenly stands from his place and rushes out the door, yelling behind him, "I'll be back!"

...

Confidently striding into the draft studio, and crossing over to where Gabriella is sat facing away form him, Troy asks, "Gabriella, could I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure…" She responds monotonously, not turning away from the work in front of her.

Undeterred by her odd standoffishness, Troy begins, "I know it's only Monday, but if you don't have any plans this weekend, or if you're bored and need someone to – um, be with you…Sorry, that sounds weird. Sorry, I get weird when I'm nervous. Sorry. And I guess I apologize a lot, too. God! Why can't I just say it? Gabi, do you want to go out with me this weekend?"

"You can stop the act, Troy," She turns to face him finally and he notices that her typically breathtaking brown eyes appear sadder normal with small, puffy bags formed underneath them.

"Wha-?"

"I'm at the firm. You got what you wanted. You can stop the act now."

"So…" He shifts his weight onto his side while struggling to comprehend what's happened, "Is that a no?"

"I have work to do," and with a point to the door, she dismisses him.

"…Okay," disheartened, but respecting Gabriella's rejection, Troy leaves her be.

...

When he reaches the conference room again, a few more suit-covered bodies have found spots at the long table. Opening the glass door to the room, the other four former Wildcats look at him with dumb smirks on their faces. As he met their smiles with a somber expression and a small shake to his head, they quickly gave him sympathetic looks in sharing the disappointment. Except for Jason (…naturally) who put up his hand for a high five.

"Dude," Chad quietly remarked, lowering Jason's hand for him.

The voice belonging to Charlie Danforth drones on unexcitedly as Troy finds his seat next to Chad at the very end of the table, "And then we'll have to excavate this lower end of the hill to give it a sturdier foundation, of course."

_What's going on with Gabriella? She's never so dismissive of me. Did something happen to her? Could I have done something wrong?_

"What do you think, Troy?"

Gabriella, Gabriella, Gabriella. That's all that Troy truly thought. While he was pondering Gabriella's unusual behavior, his fellow architects were busy discussing new plans. What exactly they were discussing and the matter the question Charlie posed him with was regarding, Troy was completely clueless of. "I'm sorry, my stomach is doing funny things," he excuses himself, "I'll be right back. I just need to, um, bathroom." With that lie, Troy quickly exits the conference room and seeks out Gabriella.

...

Every time his foot steps on the floor in the long hallway towards the studio, an equal raise in apprehension occurs in his mind. Sheepishly stopping just outside of the studio, Troy wills himself to take a deep, soothing breath before commencing the daunting task of confronting Gabriella.

Pushing in the unlatched door, he peaks his head in to see her sitting, facing away from him with a massive easel and sketch in front of her. Her long brown hair is somewhat contained into a messy bun falling down the back of her head. Aware that approaching her could just exacerbate the situation even further, Troy cautiously and gently says, "Gabriella?" After she shows no intention of turning around and acknowledging his presence, he wearily takes a step inside and begins again, "Gabriella." Still, there is no response as she continues to focus on her sketch. "I wanted to talk to you for a second, Gabriella."

"Troy," Gabriella responds impatiently with annoyance heavily weighing on her tone, "I need to finish this." Her grip on the pencil she holds tightly in her hand doesn't let up as she continues on her project, never taking her eyes off the work.

Troy says sternly, "This is important," keen on resolving the issue.

"Well, my work is more important than trivial interpersonal issues," laughing humorlessly, Gabriella continues, "Oh, I guess we have that in common."

"Is this because I asked you out?"

To this, Gabriella lowers her pencil into her lap and spins around in her chair, glaring at Troy with strong distaste.

Initially taken back by Gabriella's detesting expression, Troy quickly explains himself, "I mean it's natural for it to get awkward, but I just don't understand why you seem so…so…angry about it."

"You're really good at this, you know," Gabriella sounds almost impressed, but still carrying an underlying base of resentment.

"What?" Troy asks.

"Playing dumb," Gabriella states matter-of-factly before spinning back towards her work and bringing up her pencil to continue.

"I'm not playing! Wait, that's not what I meant. I mean that I honestly have no idea what I did to get you this mad. And trust me, you looked pissed as hell. I know I can be an insensitive ass sometimes, but this seems way above my ability alone. I feel like something happened since the last time we spoke this morning, right?"

"It doesn't matter what happened or how I found out," Gabriella states calmly as though she had come to terms with the situation. "The point is that I know all about it now."

"All about what?"

Gabriella snaps, spinning around in her chair before standing and crossing the studio to meet him, "About Brown using artists to help sell the proposals! About being desperate for an artist like me!" She flings her arms around exaggeratedly as she yells, "About using my interest in you to lure me into the firm!"

"Gabriella," he begins, a certain disappointment playing off his soft voice, "How can you believe I'd actually do something like that?"

She met his silence with a small shrug, as though saying  _I'm not sure, would you?_

"I'm aware that we have chemistry," Troy says, "That much was obvious from the first time we spoke, but I'd never take advantage of that fact to coerce you into staying here just for the firm's benefit. I'm not that kind of guy, Gabriella. I'm just not."

She knows by the sincerity in his voice and genuine look in his eyes that he was speaking the unequivocal truth. She says, "I believe you," with a reassuring smile, one that he mirrors happily. "I really should have known they were full of it. They even said you have an ex-wife! How ridiculous is that?"

The smile slowly slips from his face as he looks around the office awkwardly. "Actually," he begins…


	10. Broken Promises: Part One

_ 1½ year ago. _

"We could put the sofa against the windows over there to keep this space big and open, or we could put it directly in front of the fireplace to kind of block off this area and divide it up," the interior designer suggested, motioning with her hand the proposed changes while holding a clipboard of designs close to her chest with the other.

"Okay," Troy said, setting down a heavy cardboard box of plates on the black piano bench. Picking up the flannel shirt hanging from a barstool he had stripped off early, he used it to wipe off his sweaty forehead.

"So which would you like to do?" She inquired patiently from her place in the middle of the large, mostly empty space.

"I don't know anything about interior design," he admitted with a shy smile. "Just do whatever you think looks best," he shrugged.

"Hmm," she thoughtfully tapped her finger to her dark red lips before concluding, "I think we can afford to divide the room. I'll tell the movers to place it facing the fireplace."

"Alright," he agreed indifferently, popping open the flaps of the cardboard box and transporting the plates into the black-stained cupboards.

After writing in the new arrangements, she continued, "Next on the list is your eight by ten Safavieh rug. Currently, you want it placed underneath the dining room table, but  _I_ think it'd fit perfectly underneath your glass coffee table in the living room. What do you think about that, Troy?"

Annoyed with her seemingly endless questions about furniture placement and every minute, unimportant detail of his new loft, he snapped, "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but I frankly don't care about where a _rug_ goes, okay? Or where anything goes for that matter. I hired you so that I wouldn't have to think about this stuff. So just do whatever you want with it as long as it's within my budget. Are we clear?"

"Clear," she responded calmly while marking off more and more changes to the design. "You'll have to excuse me for a few hours. I must run back to the furniture store to oversee their packing to ensure they're not forgetting anything."

"Oh, yeah. Nothing worse than a missing lampshade," Troy remarked sarcastically.

The woman whispered to herself as she left the loft, "What an ass."

Troy resumed his task of filling his kitchen cupboards with plates, cups, and other similar items when suddenly, a soft buzz sounded from the doorbell by his front door. Gently placing the large stack of bowls onto the kitchen island, he crossed through the kitchen and to his front door to answer it.

Glancing through the hole in his door, he saw nothing but a pale fingertip blocking the sight. Slightly unnerved but intrigued nonetheless, Troy opened the door.

He couldn't help the dumb expression his face currently held with his mouth agape at the unwelcomed surprise.  _This can't be real,_  he thought to himself.

"I just don't understand what happened, Troy. When did it all go wrong?" He watched unmoved as she brought her manicured hand up to wipe off the long tear stemming from her green eyes.

"Why are you here? How did you find me?" Troy asked, the surprise and confusion still thick in his tone as his eyes scanned the woman in front of him in disbelief, as though it were an apparition from his past threatening to disperse into a pile of dust at any moment.

A hearty chunk of his fortune and their massive summerhouse in Malibu were two pleasant, materialistic things she gained from the divorce. However, there was something much more important to her that the lawyers and judge could never give her during the grueling six-month process – closure.

As she gathered a response, Troy waited patiently and simply watched her. The shoulders making small shakes in her frame as she cried. The long locks of red hair framing the backs of her hands that hid her face. After rubbing her eyes, she slowly brought her hands down, but her eyes never connected with his as though she were too ashamed. "I just can't accept that everything between us is over. There must be something left to salvage. Anything."

Shaking his head gravely, he calmly explained to her for what felt like the thousandth time, "There's nothing left between us and if you were being honest with yourself, you'd agree with me."

"I loved you, Troy," she spoke as though she were begging, desperate for him to understand her. "That's something between us. That's special."

" _Loved_ ," he couldn't help but smile at the tense that proved his point. "You can't even say you do now."

"It's the history that matters, Troy," She argued softly from behind her hands again, uncomfortably shifting her weight from side to side.

"C'mon, you're smarter than that," He spoke gently, slowly leaving the loft and entering into the hallway with the woman. Cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder, he reasoned, "You know that's not true. There are a lot of people each of us will love at one point or another. At one moment it was each other, but that moment is long gone. We can't remain stuck on the people we used to love. We both need to move forward and find new people to love presently and grow with." Removing his hand from her, he waited for a response.

As only the soft cries emitting from the redhead sounded through the air, he continued, "Did I love you? Yes, the fact will always exist that I loved you. I  _married_  you, for God's sake. But we're people, we change. We turned toxic. We fought constantly. We put each other down. We're not supporting each other and it's made both of us miserable."

"You know how much I hate saying this, but you're right." She said with a somber smile, wiping last of the tears from her cheeks. Pleased with the closure she came in search for, she turned to leave, "I'm sorry for bothering you."

"It's alright," his hand swatted the large metal door behind him as he turned back inside the loft. Until suddenly, he remembered something else, "And Lindsey!" He called out, sticking just his head into the hall.

"Yeah?" She asked as her voice was still laced with sadness, but now laced with a serene understanding that wasn't there before their talk.

"I'm not entirely sure how you found me, but please don't do it again."

"I've gotten everything I need from you, Troy. You won't have to worry about me disturbing you again. Thank you," with those final syllables escaping her once quivering lips, she departed.

Firmly closing the door behind him, he listened for the lock to click shut before crossing back into the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes and face in stress, still exhibiting some shock from the appearance of his ex-wife in his building. Brushing off the fresh experience with a shake of his head, he swung open the fridge door and grabbed a chilled Miller Lite from the otherwise empty inside.

Using his white wife beater for assistance, he popped off the cap before enjoying a tall swig of the malty drink. The glass was set down on the island with a soft clank before Troy walked around to approach his bowls again. Not even a millisecond passed between the time had Troy lifted the bowls into his hands and the buzzer sounded again. Quickly finding a reasonable spot for them in the cupboards, he stored the bowls away as the bell continued to buzz. "Patience!" He yelled at the door as he approached it. This time when he looked through the hole, he saw the easily identifiable brunette afro of his best friend.

"Open up!" The muffled voice yelled from the other side excitedly.

Laughing to himself at Chad's impatience, he joked, "Password?"

"Is it Number 14?" Chad guessed.

"Close enough." He shrugged before slowly opening the heavy door.

"Hey!" Chad brought his hand out to grab Troy's for a their handshake.

"Wildcats," Troy stated casually.

"What about them?" Chad shot him a questioning glance.

"The password is Wildcats."

"Ah, I knew it had something to do with the glory days,  _Captain_." Welcoming himself into the new loft, Chad took a long look around the empty space. "This place is nice and I mean _nice_. Nicer than mine, in fact."

"Was nicer before the she devil found me here," Troy stated, finding his beer again and taking a long sip.

"Sharpay was here?" Chad asked in shock, inviting himself into the fridge to find a drink.

"Yeah, right before you. I'm surprised you didn't run into her in the lobby or something," Troy replaced his drink on the counter before pushing off of the grey granite and into the dining area. "But anyways, I'll play tour guide. This will be where the dining table will go, then over there will be the couch with the projector set up above the fireplace."

"What's upstairs?" Chad inquired, pointing to the spiral staircase in the far corner on the other side of the piano.

"Bedrooms," Troy answered plainly.

"How many?" Chad asked.

"Two."

"Sweet! A spare room for when I'm too plastered to drive home."

"That's the plan," Troy joked along, sauntering over to the piano and tapping a few keys rhythmically before asking, "Is Ryan or Zeke coming?"

"No, I think they both had something else going on. I forget what because I honestly wasn't interested."

After a short chuckle at his best friend's lack of interest, Troy asked, "Anybody else?"

"Nope, just us."

"Then what are we waiting for? The night won't be young forever!"

...

"Troy!" The blaring music made it nearly impossible to hear and vibrating bass shaking his voice didn't help whatsoever, "Troy! The night has aged!"

Chad's words were either lost in the music or Troy just flat out ignored him because his eyes never left the long line of cleavage of the woman in front of him. The soft, silky fabric barely covering her body left little for the imagination and sent his senses wild. Brushing one of her light brown locks of hair behind her ear, Troy leaned in for kiss that was met with eager, gloss-covered lips.

"Ugh!" Chad huffed in frustration.  _He always does this to me_ , he thought before walking around the long sofa and through the sweaty, gyrating bodies of strangers until he finally reached Troy and the woman.

Their tongues had become well acquainted with each other's after they dove into the other's mouth. Just as his hand began venturing up the bottom of her dress, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder stole his attention.

"C'mon, man."

"Alright, alright." Troy agreed reluctantly before turning to the woman and inviting her to join them back to his place.

The ride to Troy's loft consisted of Jameson, the driver, keeping his eyes on the road and never once daring to glance in the rear-view mirror. Troy and the woman were combining lips and raking each other's hair in quite the frenzy. Finally, there was Chad, awkwardly peering out of his window in silence.

Finally, Jameson reached the front of the building and the three left, Troy and the woman hand-in-hand. "You good to drive home?" Troy asked Chad as he crossed the sidewalk to the front door.

"Yes, Troy," Chad said, annoyed. He couldn't help but feel bitter that Troy chose some random girl to take back to his loft over kicking it with best friend as two single guys. Shaking his head in disappointment, he wandered around the parking garage in search for his car.

Meanwhile, Troy and the woman had already entered the elevator and began the ascension to his top-story loft. Unable to wait any longer, Troy wrapped his arms around her small frame and brought her warm figure up against his body hungrily. The sweaty, humid elevator may not have been the ideal place to continue, but nevertheless he slid his tongue into her welcoming, open mouth. Only parting momentarily to depart the elevator and enter the loft, they quickly resumed their heated make out session once inside the dark loft.

"Troy," He mumbled against her lips.

"What?" She asked, inching her face away from his as he twisted his body to turn on the lights.

"My name is Troy. I don't remember if I told you or not."

"Oh, I'm Clara." She introduced herself with a kind smile.

"Anyways…" He cleared his throat awkwardly before grabbing her hand to lead her through the loft.

Along the way to what she could only assume was his room, she glanced around the loft and out its enormous windows to the bright city streets below. "Wow," Clara commented, "this place is nice."

"Thank you," he opened the door to his bedroom for her and nervously entered behind her, realizing the very real possibility that the movers may have not moved the bed in yet. As the dimmed lights slowly grew in brightness, a king sized, black sheet covered bed appeared much to his relief.

He comically discovered that her tiny dress was actually much more complicated to remove than just undoing a simple zipper. It took an awkward spin from her while he held the fabric to unwrap it from around her body and a few shimmies until the small amount of fabric could lie in a flat pile on the floor. He nodded in approval at the beautiful sight of her tanned skin and toned body as a sexy smirk tugged at his lips at the thought of the fast approaching, adult acts they'd soon partake in.

...

Waking before he did, Clara kept her head resting on top of Troy's slowly rising and falling chest as his even breathing guided it. Smiling sweetly at the thought of the generous lover next to her, she caringly began drawing small hearts on his bare abs underneath the sheets.

Feeling a sudden itch near his stomach, Troy's eyes shot open and he was beyond startled to see an unfamiliar, yet quite cute face smiling up at him from his bicep.

"Good morning, sleepy head," she kindly cooed at him.

"Um, hi," me said to the mystery woman while searching his mind for any hint at her identity.

"How do you like your eggs?" She asked him while slowly inching her lips closer to his for a good morning kiss.

Roughly jerking his head away from hers and removing his arm from under her head, Troy shot her a confused, slightly panicky look from the other side of the bed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I don't know you."

"Oh, wow." She brought her forearm over her chest to conceal herself better than the poor job the thin sheets did, "I didn't think you were drunk enough to not remember me," She said as her lower lip jutted out in disappointment.

"Well, I was," Troy stated obviously.

"Your head must be killing you then," she empathized while bringing her hand up with the intention of stroking his face.

"I'm fine," Troy quickly stated while jumping off the bed and onto his feet, peering down at her nervously. "You should go."

"Did I do something?" She asked in concern.

"No," Troy gently assured her.

"There's someone else, right?" She theorized to explain his distant behavior.

"No, I just-"

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't need to have a problem to want you to leave me alone. Are you that crazy you won't leave someone's house when they ask you to? Seriously, should I be calling the cops?" After a prolonged glare, she finally escaped the messy bunch of sheets and stood to get dressed. "Thank you," Troy said while she quickly dressed and gathered her purse.

"Ass." She murmured to herself, purposefully loud enough for him to hear as she slammed the bedroom door shut behind her.

...

"You call that a proper stance?" Jack Bolton shouted at his son teasingly from his place next to the mound.

The mirrored aviators resting on the bridge of his nose did little to protect his sensitive eyes from the blaring Los Angeles sun. His stomach still wasn't quite right even after the brief throw up session on the third course. Finally, his father's yelling did little to help the pounding headache currently drilling Troy's head.

"Dad, please don't yell." Troy requested while lining up his swing.

"It's already noon, Troy! You should have gotten last night well out of your system by now." Jack harped, bringing over a different golf club for Troy. "Try this instead."

"Well, last night ended at about three am this morning, so  _please_ ," Troy met his father's eyes has his fingers gripped around the club and requested, "no more yelling."

"That's a little excessive, don't you think?" Jack attempted to ask casually, but trace amounts of genuine concern could be detected in his tone and examining eyes that read Troy for a response.

"It's not like it's affecting my work so I don't know why you're so concerned," Troy casually leaned onto the golf club.

"I'm concerned as a father, Troy," Jack specified, "Not as a boss. Speaking of fatherly guidance, how are you holding up?"

"With what?" Troy asked, playing dumb.

"Troy…" Jack eyed his son carefully while bringing his hands to his hips firmly.

"I mean," Troy sighed, giving into his father's question, "Of course it's different now not having a girl there who's been by your side since high school – even when you didn't want her there."

"Well," Jack began, peering up at the trees above in thought. "One thing I wish people told me to do when Lucy-  _Lucile_  and I divorced was to find a new hobby. I did eventually with golf, but it might have helped out quicker if I had done so sooner. Just something to think about." Jack finished his thoughts before stepping away from Troy as he lined up a swing. "How do you like the new place?" Jack interrupted Troy's concentration.

Dropping his tensed shoulders and looking up at his father again, his hands were still holding the club in front of him tightly as he shortly responded, "Good." Before taking a strong swing at the golf ball on the tee, sending it whizzing through the open air.

"Nice swing, Troy!" Jack exclaimed proudly, smiling in gratification at his son.

"There'll be plenty more where that came from," Troy remarked arrogantly while handing the club off to his father.

Carefully sliding the club into the carrier and loading it onto the cart, Jack took a seat in front of the steering wheel. Troy then slid into the passenger seat next to him, looking expectantly at his father to start the cart.

"What?" Troy asked Jack as he sat unmoved, simply observing Troy.

"You're being way too cool about this," Jack detected.

"I'm not allowed to go about my days as I usually would? Maybe that's my coping mechanism,  _dad_." Troy leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms defensively.

"Well if it's not hitting you now, it will soon," Jack said warningly from his experience. "Promise me when it does you won't be too proud to seek help."

"I'm not going to  _promise_  you, that's dumb," Troy shook his head coolly.

"Troy, this is serious," Jack responded with a stern tone that notified Troy he wasn't willing to be written off so easily.

"Alright, alright. I promise, or whatever."

"No, mean it," Jack ordered, losing his patience.

"I promise," Troy spoke monotonously, not meeting his father's eyes.

"I said  _mean_  it."

Finally, Troy gave into the pressure and met his father's eyes sincerely and said, "I promise, dad."


	11. Broken Promises: Part Two

_1½ year ago._

"Good morning, Troy!" The fragile, slightly crackly voice greeted the young architect as he passed her desk.

Lazily bringing his hand up to the door and tiredly leaning against it, his watery eyes slowly meet hers as he mumbles, "Ms. Falstaff," in greeting before sauntering into his office. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the reflection of the hot Los Angeles sun off the opposite skyscraper's windows. Blindly walking past his armchairs and desk, his hands fumbled with the blinds until they connected and left the office with a softer glow.

He flopped his briefcase onto the large desk with a thud and lazily plopped into his swiveling chair. Holding his heavy head in his hands, he rubbed his sweaty face and took in some deep breaths before…

 _Buzz,_  his phone vibrated from his pant pocket.

Sighing, he thinks,  _what already?_  before taking out his phone to look at the message.

 _Hey,_  the phone read,  _I left something at your house. When can I get it?_

 _I'll be home around six._ He replied to the unknown number, believing the message must have come from one of the women he's brought home recently.

 _Great! I'll see you then. :))_  Quickly flashed on his screen before he locked it again.

Roughly tossing the phone into his briefcase, Troy leaned back in the tilting chair and resumed the relaxing process of rubbing his cool hands on his warm face.

"Glad to see you've made it in!" Jack, leading Charlie into the office, began. Trailing behind the two was a line of much, much younger businessmen like Chad, Zeke, Jason, Ryan, and Blake.

"Good morning, Troy," Charlie says almost regretfully, as though his appearance in the office was for unpleasant reasons.

"Gentlemen," Jack began, taking a seat in one of the large armchairs in front of Troy's desk, "We need to discuss something."

"What would that be?" Troy inquired as his younger team members gather behind him.

"Punctuality, boys," Charlie informed them. "It's becoming an issue with the five of you."

"Why were you late to work today, Troy?" Jack asks seriously, making an arc with his fingers as the tips connected in front of his stomach.

"Late?" Troy asked, glancing at his watch, "It's only eight o' six. That's nearly on time," He argued defensively.

"We're not trying to call you out, Troy," Charlie said for his side of the table.

"We're just trying to get an idea that might explain for all of the late shows recently. Does it boil down to your generation's apathy towards old-fashioned workplace etiquette?" Jack hypothesized.

Zeke answered, "I sleep through my alarm usually."

"Same," Jason pitched in.

Chad said, "I'm always surprised by the traffic."

"Alright, well, you guys need to grow up and account for these things when planning your morning commute. From now on, we'll be walking by offices in the morning and if you're not there, you will be expected to see us when you arrive and explain yourselves. Understood?" Charlie explained.

"Yes sir." The younger men all responded.

"Alright. We'll see you all at one for the Ortner Orthodontics meeting," Jack told them before departing the room with Charlie directly behind him.

"You will be expected to see us when you arrive and explain yourselves," Blake repeated in a dumb sounding, mimicking tone equipped with a laugh at the end.

"Dude," Chad began defensively, "Don't impersonate my dad to sound like an idiot. That's so disrespectful!"

"What? That's your  _dad_?" Blake asked, struggling to keep a smile down.

"Yeah."

"Oh," Blake responded, not succeeding in stifling his chuckles as he put a hand over his mouth and quickly went for the exit.

"What is his problem with me?" Chad asked the others once the door fell shut.

"Who knows?" Ryan shook his head in loss.

"I didn't think he had a problem with you, Chad." Jason consoled him, placing a hand on his suit-covered shoulder.

"Of course you wouldn't," Chad retorted, walking away from Jason and letting his hand fall down as he crossed over to the front of Troy's desk. "We really need to make some serious progress on the Ortner account before that meeting at one."

"Don't remind me." Troy rubbed his face again, desperate to be relaxed by the sensation again.

"C'mon, Wildcats," Chad began motivationally, "We can finish the proposal if we work together as a team. Zeke, do you have the blueprints?"

Zeke looked to the ceiling and waved a finger, attempting to fish out a forgotten memory. Then, snapping his fingers, he remembers, "They're in my office. I'll be right back." In just a few long strides across the office's hard wood floor, he was out the door.

"Troy," Chad continued, "Do you have the draft started?"

"Well I can't exactly start a draft without finished blueprints," Troy made evident.

"Dammit!" Chad exclaimed at no one in particular while bringing down a clenched fist on the wooden desk in anger. "No," he held up a flat palm in the air like showing 'stop', "I can help you with those. Jason," his eyes darted to meet Jason's zoned out, expressionless face. "Jason!"

Jason jumped at the loud sound of his name and met Chad's impatient eyes with his own, "Yes?"

"Stay with us. Did you get a start on the presentation slides?"

"You- You wanted me to start the presentation?" Jason asked, confused, as though it were his first time being given such an instruction.

"Yes, Ja-!" Chad began yelling, then looked away from Jason and unbuttoned his tight fitting suit jacket to calm himself and continued at a regular level, "Yes, I did. Please go grab your laptop so we can start on it."

"Why can't we use yours?" Jason asked.

"Wha- Is there something wrong with yours?" Chad asked.

"Well, no, but my laptop is all the way across the floor. You already have yours."

"We're using yours because I said so," Chad said impatiently, refusing to explain his logic.

Accepting the apparent truth that today would be a stressful workday regardless of how much he scrubbed at his face, Troy finally ceased his efforts and listened on as Chad gave orders. But Chad's orders were not sitting comfortably with him, and the fact that Chad was ordering  _his_  team didn't sit much better.

"We'll use Chad's," Troy declared.

"B-" Chad began to disagree, than thought better and respected Troy's decision as leader, "Okay."

The door shut snuggly close as Zeke re-entered with an armful of blueprints.

"Alright," Troy slowly stood from his desk and leaned forward on the strong wood from a stand, looking around at his teammates and saying, "Let's get started."

...

"Sounded like you boys were getting reamed this morning," Her voice was muffled from the yogurt sloshing around inside her mouth. "Almost felt bad for you." Scrapping the bottom of the cup, she fished out the last of the yogurt and slid the spoon into her mouth.

Blake looked up from his work, sounding rightfully annoyed for the unwelcome interruption, "In or out, Tiara. You can't stand in my doorway for all eternity like you do the break room."

"I wasn't planning to stay long," She shifted her weight from her one leg to both and stood straight in the middle of the doorway, the door resting ajar against her back.

"Was there something else you needed?"

"Information." Tiara responded simply, finally entering into the office fully.

"Didn't get enough eavesdropping on Bolton's office this morning?" Blake teased with a sly smile.

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Tiara responded defensively as though she were offended he'd think she'd be so desperate to hear.

" _Please_ , Tiara. Your cubicle is halfway across the floor. There's no way you overheard us from there."

"I may have  _passed by_." The armchair scratched against the hard wood floor from underneath Tiara's hand as she pulled it out to take a seat.

"If that's what you want to call it." Blake rebutted with a chuckle.

"Shut up," Tiara ordered as she took a seat in the chair with a thud, "There's something I need to ask you."

"Just make it quick," Blake shuffled some papers on his desk as he passively listened.

"So," Her eyes peered over Blake's black hair as she gathered her thoughts before beginning, "Have you noticed anything _unusual_  about Chad and Ryan lately?"

"Oh no," Blake dropped the papers back onto his desk and met Tiara's eyes. With disappointment heavy in his voice, he sighed, "Not again."

"If you paid any attention to the behaviors and body language your own team members exhibit, you wouldn't think it was so crazy!"

"Have you ever considered that you just read way, way, way too far into nothing?"

"I'm telling you, Blake. There's something there."

"Yeah, a nearly decade old friendship and nothing more than that. There's no way in hell Chad and Ryan have been secretly dating for the last few years like you swear they have. It's just ridiculous!"

"I think they broke up."

"Why the hell would you think something like that?"

"Just seeing the changes from the way they talked earlier and then how they're acting today. They try to hide it, but they can't hide it all from me. I just  _know_  it."

"Well, they can't break up if they've never dated, which is all I'm convinced of."

"You just wait. They'll come out one day and you won't think I'm so crazy then."

"I don't think you're crazy, I think your theories are crazy."

"Whatever."

"Is that all? I mean can I get back to work, please?"

"Ugh," Tiara quickly stood from her place and left the office with no more information than when she walked in.

...

After hours and hours of constructing blueprints and drafts, and sitting in on lengthy presentations and a successful proposal, Troy was finally back in his loft with his rear end planted firmly on his couch. Bare feet up on the coffee table and snacks surrounding him, he was finally getting some much-needed quiet, relaxation time.

Sipping from a tall, thirst-quenching glass of beer, Troy finished the second episode in his  _Catfish_  marathon when suddenly three knocks sounded at the door. "Not home!" He yelled from his spot, just to be answered with three louder knocks. Tossing the blanket off of him, he reluctantly stood and crossed the modern loft to the front door. Unlatching the lock, he slowly opened the heavy metal door until she appeared.

"Hey!" The woman greeted him warmly with a bright smile and big, excited eyes.

"Oh hey!" He acted as though he knew her. Although he recognized her as one of the women who's slept over the last few days, he couldn't remember her name at all.

"Sorry if it's kind of late. I know you said you got home at six, so I just thought I'd give you some time to settle in. Which I can see you've done…" She said, glancing behind him and smirking at the projected  _Catfish_  scene playing in the background. "Big reality fan, are we?"

"I'm just watching what's on." Troy shrugged.  _Clara!_  He remembered her name.

" _Sure_. Well, excuse me as I search for my missing item?" Clara started to walk towards him and into the loft.

"Yeah," Troy agreed, suddenly piecing together that this was the mysterious number that was texting him earlier. Taking a step inside, he guided her in.

"Wow, I like what you've done with it!" Clara peered over the first level in awe as she ascended the stairs.

"All thanks to a few more decorations," Troy attributed the pleasant change, "they're not done with everything, though. Still some more stuff left to move in."

"Well they've done a great job so far. Feels much more cozy." Clara said, her hands wrapping around the doorknob to the bedroom. "Ah!" She exclaimed as she crossed over the floor to the bedside table, "Here it is!"

"What was it?" Troy asked curiously, coming into the room as well.

"My hair pin." She held her flat palm out to Troy with a single bobby pin resting in it.

"Your hair pin?" He asked in hear disbelief.

"Yeah."

"You couldn't just use another? Don't girls have like hundreds of those?"

"Alright…you caught me," Clara said in defeat. She sat down on the end of Troy's bed and confessed, "I really just came back to see you again and maybe get another date out of you."

"Whoa there," Troy stood uncomfortably in front of her. "Look, I had fun with you and all, but that's where I want to leave it. I don't want anything more."

"Then why would you let me stay the night?" Clara asked angrily, standing from her spot in front of him.

"I didn't think letting an obviously plastered girl stay the night at my place made her my girlfriend all of a sudden. I was being courteous and responsible. Not trying to make us a thing."

"I just thought you were genuinely interested in me is all."

"Well if you want to spin it that way, go ahead. You're still not going to guilt me into taking you out."

"You're a real ass, you know that?"

"You're really not the first girl to surprise me with that one, sweetie."

On the verge of tears in frustration and embarrassment, Clara nudged herself past Troy and out the bedroom door. Troy followed close behind her, neither saying a word until they were just a few steps away from the front door. "One last thing," Clara began, her words seething with her eyes, "Next time you think about playing someone poor girl like you did me…just don't. Seriously, don't." Clara then escorted herself out the rest of the way and Troy spun around and headed for his comfy sofa again.

Plopping down onto the couch, Troy reacquainted himself with the surrounding snacks when his phone suddenly buzzed from his pocket. "Ugh!" He huffed, "What now?" He yelled at the ceiling above.

"Hello?" Troy asked, tossing a handful of Cheetoh's into his mouth.

"Troy..."

Troy only had to hear the tone in which the voice said his name to know something was seriously wrong, "Chad…is something wrong?" Troy quickly swallowed the Cheetoh's before continuing, "What happened? You sound so… _sad_."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Chad responded sounding quite depressed _._

"I'm calling your bluff, dude. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, man. We tell each other everything," Troy pointed out.

"I can't tell you about this one."

"Why not?"

"It's not something just about me. Telling you wouldn't just affect me, Troy. It's someone else, too. I can't do that to the other person. I'm sorry, I just can't tell you."

"I guess I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I just…I just wanted to call you and hear a familiar voice I suppose. I'm sorry if that's dumb. I can let you go."

"Absolutely not! Of course we can talk. I'll never be too busy to talk with my best friend, I promise."


	12. Skeletons: Part One

_January 11th, 2016.  
Monday._

"No…" Gabriella denies, her brown eyes peering at him suspiciously from behind squinted eyelids.

"Yes," Troy argues with a slight shake of his head.

"No!" Gabriella says with a small laugh, as though the idea was just too absurd and ridiculous to be taken seriously.

To this, Troy just uncomfortably shifts his weight from one side to the other and looks around the modern office nervously, anxious for her reaction once she finally believes him.

"You're kidding," Gabriella theorizes, continuing to peer at him suspiciously, still unconvinced. "I just know it." She crosses her arms over her chest stubbornly, the tight cotton of her shirt shifting in the process.

"No," he clears his throat awkwardly and finally admits clear as day. "I was married."

"Actually married?" She asks.

"Actually married. Wedding, marriage, divorce…the whole nine yards."

"You're not messing with me?"

"Not at all…unfortunately," Troy watches as her the expression in her eyes switch from squinting in suspicion to wide with surprise as the fact seeps in.

"Why'd it end?" Gabriella asks, her brown eyes staring into Troy's intensely, seemingly immensely intrigued with Troy's marriage.

"What?" Troy asks, visibly taken back with her bluntness, "I don't want to talk about it, Gabriella." Troy shakes off the question with a shrug.

"That's all you're going to give me?" Gabriella jokes with a soft giggle, but an underlying seriousness can be detected in the way her eyes study his reaction expectantly.

"Well, yeah! Gosh, why do you have to be so damn nosey?"

"I'm just curious! Can't someone be interested in your past?" Gabriella asks.

While Troy rubs his eyes and soft chuckles emit from the small smirk on his lips, Gabriella's demeanor abruptly shifts as the smile on her face is quickly wiped off and replaced with a straight line of red lips. She takes a step back and braces her hands behind her on top of his desk standoffishly, "So…they were wrong about your intentions, but right about your marriage?" She asks.

"Well…" Troy begins, swallowing the lump in his throat. The way she stands so much further away from him and peers at him with a serious glisten off of her usually joyous eyes startles at him. The air is tense in the office; a dramatic difference from their typically playful and comfortable energy is almost frightening. He licks his lips in thought before responding, careful to form his defense persuasively, aware that any potential for growing closer to her is in jeopardy, "Yes. I know that right now all I have to offer you is my word, which doesn't count for much. I really, really wish I could somehow show you or prove you that my intentions are not malicious in nature. If there's anything,  _anything_  that I could do to prove that I'm not taking advantage of you, let me know."

The final syllables of Troy's speech linger in the air for a few tense moments while Gabriella absorbs their meaning and computes a response. Finally, her curled in lips unfold and she asks him, "Did you want to take me out?"

"What man doesn't?"

Trying her hardest not to blush and fall for his flattery, she forces herself to maintain her composure and continues a rapid-fired interrogation, "Did you already have a place in mind?"

"Yes."

"Does it have milkshakes?"

"…Yes?" Troy asks, very confused as to where she could be going with this.

"Good ones?"

"Best in the state of California."

"Friday," Gabriella declares, pushing off his desk and passing the sitting area on her way to the door.

"Wait!" Troy calls after her, quickly shuffling over to her. "You're really going to go out with me this Friday?"

"How else am I supposed to uncover your intentions apart from getting to know you a little better? But mainly, I get free dinner and a milkshake out of it! A girl has to eat." Gabriella sends him a cute wink before pushing the door open and leaving the office.

_January 15th, 2016._

_Friday._

The day starts as it typically does for one Miss. Gabriella Montez. The blaring alarm, the steaming shower, the savory breakfast, and naturally, breaking speed limits en route to work at the Bolton Tower. Specific to today and the last four days since their talk on Monday, a small spark of excitement has lingered in her heart for what will be occurring tonight. Tonight is the night of her much anticipated date with Troy Bolton.

She lets in a deep breath while pressing the number fourteen button on the elevator, accompanied in the tight space with other cramped businesspeople. Her frame bounces anxiously as her knees nervously lock and unlock.

Finally, the journey is finished as the elevator reaches the fourteenth floor. The doors part and she happily exits the smelly, humid elevator and enters the Bolton Architecture Firm's reception area.

Facing away from her, she immediately recognizes Troy from behind as he talks to Chad. As she approaches the two chatting businessmen, she finally reaches within earshot as Chad interrupts whatever Troy was saying to tell him, "She's here, actually." And with a nod of his head, he directs Troy to look at her standing just behind him.

Slowly twisting his torso, Troy catches Gabriella's eyes and does a quick double take between her and Chad before turning all the way around to greet her kindly, "Oh! Hi, Gabriella!" His voice sounds more joyous than that of a kindergartener reuniting with their best friend in daycare after a long weekend apart. The excitement in his smile and happy eyes speak louder than any word he could ever use to describe his current mood.  _Euphoric_ wouldn't even scratch the surface.

A swarm of butterflies flutter about her stomach excitedly and her heart involuntary skips a beat at the sight of his beaming smile and excitement. "Good morning, Troy." Hearing her own obnoxiously loud and excited voice, she blushes a bright shade of red. Desperate to contain her enthusiasm, she corrects herself, "I mean," she shrugs and nonchalantly says, "morning." She glances away, suddenly overcome with shyness. Her eyes cautiously wander back to Troy, just to find his eyes glued on her with a big smirk on his face. "What?" She asks defensively.

"Just…" He shakes his head as a short laugh sounds from his smiling lips, "Nothing."

"What, Troy?" She asks with impatience to her tone, but a playful smirk hanging onto her lips shows her joking intentions.

" _Nothing_ , Gabriella." He plays along, a faux-annoyed element weighing heavily on his tone.

For a few moments, the two enter a total standoff. His sapphire blue eyes lock onto hers with a hint of secrecy and amusement. Meanwhile, her chocolaty brown eyes glare back at him.

"Hey," a new voice snaps the two out of their playful standoff. Troy spins around to find Chad still standing there. Chad informs him, "I have to get started on a new blueprint. I'll talk to you during the Lapinberg account meeting. Nice seeing you again, Gabriella."

Gabriella says, "You too!"

"We should probably get started, too," Troy starts to lead Gabriella into the firm with a warm hand resting gently on her back to guide her in. "I have a new project for you," he says, the satin fabric beneath his hand is temptingly smooth as his fingers gently curl in and out on top of the blouse. "I think you'll like it."

Finally reaching her draft studio, the two close the door behind them and he reaches into his stretched brief case to take out an object.

While tossing her bag onto her desk, she says, "I'm up for anything as long as it's not another binder."

"Oh," He suppresses a laugh. "Well…" He turns around dramatically and a large, mock-excited smile spreads across his face, "It's a binder! Just like you wanted. You said you'd like it  _as long as_  it's another binder, right?"

" _Right,_ " She begins sarcastically, "That's  _exactly_  what I said." Reluctantly taking the massive binder from him, she says, "You sure know how to satisfy a girl's wants, Troy." Her eyes grow wide in sudden realization at the sexual innuendo of her chosen words.

He blushes just as wildly as her before the two crack up in laughter.

Once the laughing dies down and their faces return to their natural shades, Gabriella says, "As you can tell, I'm just as suave as ever."

"Oh, so not at all?"

"Precisely." She says, looking downcast.

"Least suave person known," Troy continues to tease mercilessly.

Tapping her foot impatiently, she asks, "Are you done yet? Because I have a hundred terrible drafts that need to be completely redone now."

"Hey, watch what you say there. Yours truly may have made some of them."

"Yeah, probably the same ones I have a good laugh at before tearing them into shreds while laughing menacingly."

"Man!" Troy gasps while bringing a hand up to his heart in mock-pain, "You are absolutely  _brutal_  today, Montez."

"Nothing you can't handle, Bolton."

...

She checks her phone time and time again, not wanting to be spotted looking out her window waiting for him. (That'd just look desperate!) Instead, she resorts to staring at her phone for a "here!" text. When suddenly,  _buzz_ , erupts the doorbell.

Her eyebrows dip together in confusion as she stands from her spot on the cozy couch. Unlatching the lock, she slowly opens the door.

"Oh!" Her eyes enlarge like a deer caught in headlights to see no one other than Troy.

"Hey, are you ready?" He asks, using every inch of willpower to keep his eyes from appreciating her tight, short black dress.

"Let me just grab my purse. I was expecting a text or something, not for you to show up at my door."

"Well what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't escort the lovely lady to the car?"

"True," Gabriella turns around and heads for the coffee table to pick up her bag, allowing her hips to sway from side to side on the journey. Completely aware of Troy's eyes glued on her behind, she knowingly asks, still turned away from him, "So what kind of gentleman are you by checking me out?" She glances back at him and shoots him a victorious smirk.

"How did you know?" Troy asks, impressed with the eyes in the back of her head, until he realizes, "Oh damn it, that was a test wasn't it?"

"Maybe." She shrugs, the purple leather clutch now held tightly in her grasp.

"Will there be an extra credit opportunity?" Troy asks, guiding her through the apartment halls and out to the front where Jameson awaits the two.

"Haven't decided yet," Gabriella plays along, entering the luxury car.

"You're worse than my college professors!" Troy kids, fastening his seatbelt. "Which would you prefer, a guy who appreciates your beauty or ignores it?" Troy argues.

"Alright…partial credit."

"Yes!" Troy exclaims in triumph, to which Gabriella shakes her head with a soft smile playing off her cherry red lips.

...

"We'll have you seated here," the dark skinned, curvy waitress opens her arm out to motion at a booth along the line of windows overlooking the city lights below the hill.

Troy says, "Thank you, Mary!"

"Of course, nothing but the best view for Mr. Troy Bolton and his lady." Mary says with a little laugh following.

Gabriella quickly clarifies, "Oh, I'm not his lady."

"I'm just joking, honey! I'll be back around soon."

Troy begins, "So here's my test for you," crossing his arms over his chest and taking a step away from the table. "Would you prefer sitting on the same side of the booth or across from each other?"

"Hmm," Gabriella raises an eyebrow in thought, tapping an index finger on her lips. Then, she carefully lowers herself into the dark green booth. Next, she motions with her hand for Troy to sit opposite of her.

"Not gonna lie, that's very disappointing." Troy says, taking his seat in the booth side opposite of Gabriella.

"Oh God, you're one of those weird, sitting-on-the-same-side guys."

"It's not weird!"

"It's very weird. You just lost more points."

"So did you, sweetie."

"Here we are, guys," Mary interrupts the duo to set down a massive chocolate shake on the table. "Are we ordering any dinner tonight?"

Gabriella asks, "A cheeseburger with fries, please?"

"No problem, for you, Troy?"

Troy says, "The same."

"Alright, I'll put those orders in, you two enjoy the shake."

Gabriella says, "Thanks," and stabs her straw onto the table to break the wrapper.

Troy does the same, but he leaves the paper wrapper barely hanging onto the end of the straw by just an inch. He sneakily raises the straw end up to his lips while Gabriella concentrates on the milkshake, and blows into the straw, sending the wrapper into Gabriella's cheek like a dart.

Gasping in pleasant surprise, Gabriella exclaims, "Troy! What are you, twelve?" She asks, giggling.

"Yes," Troy dives his straw into the shake and takes a sip for himself.

Meanwhile, Gabriella attempts to put her wrapper back on the end of the straw in vain.

Troy watches her struggle and chuckles to himself, "Can't do it now."

"You watch," she declares, ripping off a piece of the paper wrapper, balling it up between her palms, and popping it into her mouth.

"What are you doing, freak?" Troy asks, laughing at her weird actions.

In response, a large, mischievous smile crosses Gabriella's face as she takes the wet ball out of her mouth. Shoving the ball into the end of her straw, she raises the other end to her mouth and takes aim.

"Gabriella, no!" Troy raises his hands up to protect his face. "Please, don't!"

Gabriella patiently waits for him to glance from behind his hands, then blows into the straw and sends the spitball rocketing for him.

"Ah!" Troy exclaims, the spitball nailing him on the palm luckily. "Ew!" Troy looks at the spitball sticking to his palm in disgust.

On the other side of the table, Gabriella erupts in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, finding the whole thing hilarious.

"This is so gross." Troy says, using a napkin to wipe off the sticky, wet paper ball.

Gabriella's laughter quickly dies down into short giggles. "I'm sorry, was that really too far?" She asks.

"Not at all." He chuckles, "I just hope you realize that you've entered a war with me."

"Oh, am I supposed to be scared or something?" She asks sarcastically.

"You should be," Troy says warningly before sending her a wink.

...

Remnants of a cheeseburger and fries remain in the baskets on the table between the two as Troy pushes the third milkshake to Gabriella.

"No thanks," She states, leaning back into the booth sleepily.

"You full?" He asks.

"Oh yeah," she admits. "Real full."

"I bet you regret wearing that tight dress now."

"I do," Gabriella affirms with a heavy sigh, sending him a regretful look. "It was already a size too small before this meal. Now it's like five with this food baby forming." She says, jokingly rubbing her bulging belly.

"Ooh, I have something  _so_ smooth to say to that. It'd be too soon for that, though."

"Why would it be too soon? I think we're pretty comfortable."

"It'd be highly suggestive."

"…About a food baby?"

"No! About you being uncomfortable in your dress."

Gabriella demands, "Let me hear it!"

"Alright, just don't let it get weird between us after this. So you said you were regretting the dress, and then I wanted to say, maybe we should head back to my place and get it off of you…for your comfort, of course." Troy laughs at himself, "I'm sorry, it's so dumb now that I hear myself say it."

"No! That's actually not bad. I give it an eight point three."

"Aw, thanks for the  _point three_."

"Well then! Eight point one. Docked for lack of appreciation."

"All done?" Mary asks, approaching the two wielding a large dish tray.

"Yup!" Troy responds for himself and Gabriella. "It was delicious."

"Good to hear," Mary says with a smile on her face. "I'll be sure to let chef know. And I'll be right back with your change."

"The change is for you, Mary. Excellent service as always." Troy compliments her before nodding at Gabriella.

In response, Gabriella slowly scoots over in the booth to the end and carefully raises herself onto her feet.

...

"My God…" The words barely escape Gabriella's lips before she sharply inhales at the sight of the richly decorated loft. "Wow!" Gabriella exclaims, venturing further into open space, looking around at everything within sight. "Oh my God! It's stunning!"

"Thank you. I think this is the best reaction to seeing my place I've ever gotten."

"Really? I'd think everyone would love this. And the view!" Gabriella excitedly bounces over to the massive windows and presses her palms flat on the cool glass.

Troy slowly approaches her from behind, watching her as she peers out at the bright city below.

"It's beautiful." Gabriella says, her big brown eyes studying the spectacular view.

"Yeah," he ceases his steps right behind her, and reaches out a nervous hand to rub her lower back. His reach halts only millimeters from contact and lets it hover untouched in the open air. Finally, he abandons his pursuit and lets his hands fill his pockets instead.

"You're so lucky, Troy." Gabriella declares, turning around to face him, her eyes widening at his location much closer to her than she had known.

"I know," He agrees, standing still in front of her with her looking back at him. The both of them staring speechless, silent, and still in solitude. Now would be as good a time as any for someone to make a move if only one of them would  _move_.

Finally, Troy breaks the silence with his soft voice as he shares, "I do care about you, Gabriella. Genuinely."

"I know that now," Gabriella confirms with a small nod of her head. "I know you."

Her words allow Troy to finally relax with the knowledge that she no longer has doubts about his intentions. A soft, serene smile appears on his lips. "Good."

Gabriella warmly smiles back at him while shyly stepping even closer towards him, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she does so.

Smiling bigger with every inch she progresses towards him, he reaches out a hungry hand and pulls her in by the waist. Her head lands gently on his chest as her thin arms wrap around his warm, muscular body. She feels so small and breakable wrapped in his big arms. His hands rest atop the soft ends of her long brown hair cascading down her back lower back. Not to be forgotten, their hearts beat widely in the chests, threatening to jump from their respective bodies and bind together between the two. Finally, Gabriella picks her head up from his chest and shyly peers up at him, his blue eyes more vivid and clear than she's ever seen them before. Troy dips his head down and tenderly places a simple kiss on her temple.


	13. Skeletons: Part Two

_January 16th, 2016.  
Saturday._

Their two petite bodies quickly overwhelm the tight space in the cramped kitchen. Taylor, covered in her favorite apron, leans a hip against counter from her spot by the sink. Gabriella, borrowing an old, spare, polka dotted apron of Taylor's, feels the cool air seep out from the open fridge onto her body.

"Water?" Taylor asks, reading off the side of the cake mix box.

"Check," Gabriella confirms.

"Four eggs?" Taylor continues down the list, her index finger sliding down the cardboard.

"Erm," Gabriella pushes back the refrigerator door further to check. "Only three."

"Seriously?" Taylor asks.

"That's all I see."

"Ugh! Okay, Chad and I can grab some at the store I suppose."

 _Buzzzz_ , the obnoxious doorbell buzzer erupts.

"Speak of the devil!" Taylor states giddily before excitedly pushing off the counter and prancing over to the front door. Swinging the heavy wooden door open, she is pleased to see the two men they've been expecting to assist them in baking cupcakes for the homeless shelter this Saturday morning.

"Good morning, beautiful!" Chad greets Taylor, a massive smile stretching across his face at the mere sight of her.

"Hello, handsome!" Taylor brings up a hand to shyly hide the small smile forming on her lips.

"Come here," Chad opens his arms for her to enter into a warm, welcoming embrace. What sets this hug apart from Chad's signature, friendly hugs is the quick peck he gently places on Taylor's blushing cheek as they part.

Troy interrupts their moment with a rascally smirk and says, "Gross!"

"Thanks, man." Chad says.

"Anytime," Troy lands a heavy pat on Chad's back before giving Taylor his own welcome hug.

Entering the dining room, Troy catches sight of Gabriella reading over the recipe in the kitchen and promptly erupts in laughter, "I'm loving the apron, Gabi!"

Blushing in embarrassment, Gabriella quickly defends herself, "What? I like polka dots!"

"Yeah, it's very flattering," Troy jokes, his electrifying laughter dying down to bursts of chuckles as he crosses by the small dining room table en route to her position.

"You better watch what you say or I'll make you wear Tay's kitten one!" Gabriella kids with a bright, white smile.

"But then I'd be  _too_  adorable, it'd be unfair for you!"

"I admire your humility, Bolton," Gabriella stops in the doorframe between the kitchen and dining area.

"Get over here," Troy orders with a big smile on his face, looping his finger around the apron's band and pulling her into a strong hug.

Her forehead rests on his pronounced collarbone as she breathes in the cologne on his shirt. The sensation of his warm, perked lips connecting with her forehead naturally tugs a smile on her lips.

"Hey," She hears Taylor gently say from the other side of the room, making them quickly separate their embrace. "Chad and I are heading to the store now, did we need anything else besides eggs?"

"I don't think so," Gabriella shrugs.

Chad orders them warningly, "Alright, you two keep it PG!"

Troy promises, "Will do!"

Chad caringly rests a hand on Taylor's back as he guides her out of the apartment.

Once she hears the front door click shut, Gabriella immediately turns back to Troy and excitedly dishes, "Okay, they are seriously so cute!"

"I know, right?" Troy agrees with a chuckle.

"I am so happy for Taylor!" Gabriella squeals. "She hasn't had a boyfriend since…probably her undergrad honestly."

"Oh man, it's been longer for Chad. It's probably been since  _high school_ for him." Troy reveals, casually leaning against the dining room table. "He's seriously ecstatic to be with her. Not exaggerating,  _ecstatic_."

"Aw!" Gabriella brings her hands up to either side of her face and cups her cheeks excitedly.

"He talks about her so much during our team collaborations. It's just ridiculous. Ryan gets kind of annoyed with it for whatever reason."

"Oh my God, that's so sweet! Do you talk about me?" Gabriella inquires, excitement shining through her big, brown eyes.

"Well," Troy turns around to hide the smirk and blush on his face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Don't avoid the question!" Gabriella orders, walking around Troy to see his face.

"How about this cake mix?" Troy asks, practically running away from Gabriella and into the kitchen, picking up the box from the counter.

"Stop avoiding the question!" Gabriella demands, following Troy closely behind and grabbing onto the back of his shirt.

"Ask one of the guys if you really want to know," Troy advises her, forcing the dumb smirk off of his face and willing his complexion to regain its natural shade.

"I  _will_ find out, Bolton," Gabriella promises, poking him in the chest with her finger.

"I trust my confidants," Troy says confidently. He drags his finger along the inside of the box tab to separate the glue.

"Why are you opening it now?" Gabriella asks him curiously.

"Because I can, Montez," Troy jokingly glares at her, one that she returns with a playful smile.

He pulls apart the inside bag of cake mix and brings it up to smell. "Ooh, chocolaty."

"Really?" Gabriella begins sarcastically, "I never would have thought a box labeled German chocolate cake mix would smell chocolaty! C'mon, Troy."

He dips his fingers into the mix and takes out a small pile of the dusty mix. "Hmm," He says, a mischievous smirk forming on his face. "Gabi?"

"Yeah?" She asks, her eyes jumping back and forth from his face to the mix held in his hand.

"Remember when I told you that you've entered a war last night?"

"Yes…?"

"This is the second battle," Troy warns before tossing the small bit of cake mix onto Gabi's apron and laughing maliciously.

"Troy!" Gabriella shouts his name in surprise.

"Brown's your color!" Troy observes, taking out a bigger handful of cake mix and tossing it onto her as well.

"Troy!" Gabriella yells again. When by pure luck, her eyes spot the sink's pressured water sprayer and gives her a plan. Just as the third handful of mix falls into her hair, she pulls out the hose and points it at Troy.

"You wouldn't…"

"Is that a challenge?" Gabriella smiles in victory as she flips on the faucet and squeezes the hose, dousing his shirt with a hefty amount of water.

"Cold!" Troy yelps, his body naturally jerking away from the source of the water, the bag of cake mix falling to the floor in the process.

In quick response, Gabriella shuts off the water and dives to the floor to get ahold of the bag.

Witnessing her movements, Troy too makes a quick bend to his feet to grab the bag, but is too late.

She stands up from the ground, proudly wielding the bag of chocolate cake mix in her hand, using the other to toss more and more powder on him. His pleads of "No!", "Please!", and "Mercy!" along with her victorious laughter occupies the chocolate clouded air in the small kitchen.

Quickly making a lunge for the bag, he gets one hand on it and pulls at it, attempting to end the battle.

Her death grip on the bag doesn't let up one bit as she spins around so that his arm has to reach around her body. "No!" She yells.

He wraps his other arm around her to grab onto the bag as well, pleading, "C'mon, truce!"

"Show no mercy!" She yells, giggling, attempting to pull the bag out of his hands so close to her stomach.

"C'mon, Gabi." He pleads again, tightening his arms around her.

"Fine," She sighs, breathing heavily. Her small hands finally release their tight clamp on the bag.

Taking the bag from her and placing it on the counter next to them, he releases her. Turning around to face him, she can't help but laugh again at the sight of his doused, wet cake mix-covered shirt. Holding onto her stomach, she reveals, "My stomach hurts from laughing so much."

"Good!" He laughs along, his hand tracing up and down her soft arm caringly.

She sighs, her giggling dying down. She glances down at the warm hand stroking her arm, and then her eyes jump back up to his eyes to find the irresistible blues staring back at her.

His hand finds a spot on her arm to grip onto while his other reaches up to the same spot on her other side. Her hands instinctively press up against his abs, tracing around to the sides of his waist, then all the way to his lower back, welcoming him in. He forces his eyes to break away from her beautiful eyes and to her lips, spotting them for landing for his own. She ever so slightly tilts her head back, rises onto her toes, and perks her lips in anticipation. The sound of keys jiggling into the lock from the living area interrupts their brief moment as the two reluctantly break their hold on each other.

"They were on sale so I got two dozen!" Taylor announces, but once she spots the wet, cake mixed covered duo, her expression drops into a look of shock and disappointment. "What did you two do?"

Chad says, "I think we're going to need more cake mix."

_January 18th, 2016._

_Monday._

The seagulls flock the beach goers, greedily picking at their food. Massive tour buses trudge around the popular city destinations. Rows upon rows of bumper-to-bumper traffic contribute to the infamous Los Angeles smog. It's your typical Los Angeles day. Well, almost. What's different about this Monday morning is the location of our Miss. Gabriella Montez.

"Move, damn it!" She screams from the driver's seat, laying on her horn inside the small sedan, still fifteen minutes away from the Bolton Architecture Firm. Already nearly an hour and a half late, her patience for the ill-mannered, big city drivers has quickly worn thin. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" she murmurs to herself.

Finally reaching the parking garage, she skids her car into a spot and quickly gathers her bag to take inside. Passing the receptionist's desk, Gabriella leans against the tall glass doors and enters the firm, then takes an immediate right down the hallway towards her draft studio. She sloppily drops her bag to the floor by her easel and wipes the sweat off her forehead, the evidence of her speed walking.

"Miss. Montez," the powerful, baritone voice speaking from the doorway startles her.

Spinning around, she sees no one other than a very disapproving Jack Bolton. "Mr. Bolton," she speaks friendly, "Good morning!"

Ignoring her greeting, Mr. Bolton gets right to his point. "The receptionist only now clocked you in. Is this her mistake or are you late?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Gabriella quickly explains, "I'm late, Mr. Bolton. I'm so sorry, my alarm-"

"I've heard enough excuses from my employees, Miss. Montez. I'm not interested in hearing any more. I expect you to make up the two missed hours by this Friday. Understood?"

Her heart thumping nervously from Mr. Bolton's seriousness and disappointment, she speaks shyly, "Understood, Mr. Bolton."

"I will warn you  _once_  not to make tardiness a habit," Mr. Bolton threatens.

"Yes, sir. I promise it won't happen again," Gabriella says, picking at her nails guiltily for letting it happen once in the first place.

Without a further word, Mr. Bolton departs the studio, leaving Gabriella standing alone.

...

The small restaurant was uncomfortably steamy from the dense amount of customers in the intimate space. As he sits in the back corner table waiting for her, he nervously reconsiders the location of their first lunch date together. Maybe it's too loud, too cramped, and too expensive for her humble tastes.  _No_ , he tells himself,  _Taylor is plenty flexible._ Shifting around in the metal seat, he realizes from his sore lower back that he must have been there for quite awhile. Glancing at his watch, he discovers that she is nearly seventeen minutes late. For a brief moment, he considers the unlikely possibility that she's entirely forgotten about their date. When suddenly he notices her figure, covered in nursing scrubs, approaching his table, a sore contrast from the typical businesspeople crowd.

She apologizes, "Hey, sorry I'm so late. I had no idea the traffic would be so crazy around lunchtime! Probably because I never take my lunch." She glances down at the chair he pulls out for her and gently scoots in.

"I'm glad you agreed to let me break you of that habit for one day," Chad says as he walks around the round, glass table and takes his seat again.

"Well it's hard to resist a free lunch with a handsome business man such as yourself, Chad." Taylor smiles.

Returning her friendly smile, Chad asks her, "How's work been?"

"Busy as always. Two nurses called in sick, which only makes it worse. My favorite patient isn't feeling so well today. He has a high fever, which isn't good news for someone of his age. Then there's-" She abruptly ends her ramblings once she notices that Chad's eyes have locked onto something behind her. "Chad?" She turns around in her chair to look for whatever he's look at, but the warm sensation of his soft hand grabbing onto hers over the table steals her attention.

"I'm sorry," He says sincerely, looking straight into her big, brown eyes again. "I'm listening."

"It's alright," she giggles, giddy from their hands touching. "I was tangenting anyways. How's your work been today?"

"Lots of work and lots of bickering. Gosh, sometimes it gets so petty it's like we're still in high school," Chad admits with a soft chuckle.

"Wait,  _still_ in high school?" Taylor asks.

"Yeah, Troy and I went to high school with the other three team members, Ryan, Jason, and Zeke. We played basketball together at East High School. We're the Wildcats."

"I had no idea!" Taylor admits, laughing in surprise.

"Seriously? I would have thought Troy would have told Gabriella about it by now. God knows how much they talk."

"She must not know because she hasn't said anything about it, and she tells me  _everything_. I can't tell you how many times I've guided her through boy problems. Like that one day with Troy at the firm when those nasty girls filled her head with lies. Poor Gabi was absolutely devastated to think Troy had-" For the second time during the brief time they had been sitting at the table, Chad yet again locked eyes with something behind Taylor.

Frustrated with his divided attention, Taylor whips around to where Chad's eyes were drawn. Finding a short blond man sitting at the bar, a short glass of water in his hand, staring at them.

"I'm so sorry," she hears Chad say and feels his grip on her hand tighten.

Looking at Chad again, she asks, "Do you know him?"

"Yeah, just…don't worry about it. I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Taylor reluctantly restarts her talk of Troy and Gabriella, briefing considering for a moment to push Chad about the identity of the man watching them, but deciding it will come out on its own in due time.

...

The firm and his loft were the two places that truly felt like coming home whenever he reentered them. It held a distinct warmth and familiarity characteristic to those distinguished, few places in the world that we can truly call "home". Breathing in the delicate scent of potpourri mixed with freshly printed paper, he happily reenters the firm after a long day of out of office meetings.

Taking a sharp left, he walks along a long the long row of abandoned cubicles on his right and a wall of doors to his left. Suddenly, one of the doors swings open and a figure walks into his way, staring down intently at a draft held in her grasp.

Smiling to himself, he quickly devises a plan. First, he walks closer to the cubicles and out of her way so she won't see his feet approaching her. Next, just as they are nearly passing each other, he slows his pace and quickly reaches his hands out to grab her by the hips, screaming, "Hey!" and spins her towards him, backing her gently against the wall.

"Oh my God!" Gabriella exclaims, instinctively dropping the draft to the floor and putting her hands out in front of her in defense. "Troy!" She yells at him in shock, "Don't do that!"

"Were you scared?" He asks, his hand still on the tight, nude pencil skirt covering her hips, laughing.

"Yes, I was as a matter of fact." She jokingly guilts him, her hands dropping from their place on his chest.

In response, he releases her from his grasp and takes a step back. Suddenly realizing the oddity of her presence at this late of an hour, he shoots her a confused look and says, "Wait, what are you still doing here?"

"I was late to work," She explains. "I figured I'd just make up the hours now and get them out of the way. What about you? I thought you were out today."

"I was, I just have some stuff to finish that I left in my office," He runs a hand through his sloppy hair, it slowly falling out of place as the product wears.

"I see," Her eyes bounce around his hair and face, taking in the handsome sight of his sharp jaw and sexily teased hair.

"How much longer are you staying?" He asks with a hopeful smirk.

"Another forty-five minutes. Why?"

"Did you want to set up in my office? We can keep each other company. I'm sure it gets lonely being in that quiet studio all day."

"I would love to, but I need the easel in my studio."

"I have a spare easel in my office."

"Well, I suppose I'm out of excuses then. I'll be right over."

"Alright," he adds, "I'll be waiting." Before sending her a farewell wink and taking off towards his office.

Spinning in the opposite direction towards the studio, she holds a hand over her blushing face.

...

"Wow. It's just so…wow." Troy chuckles in astonishment at Gabriella's drawing now on his easel, moved next to his desk.

"Thanks," she smiles. "I think I've gotten much better since starting here."

"Yeah, well, you've always been incredible to me."

"Thanks," A soft, rosy color rises to her cheeks at his compliment. Gabriella then grabs a dark brown oil pastel to continue the piece. Shakily, she raises the oil pastel to the drawing, nervous to now have an audience watching her. Bringing the oil pastel back down into her lap, she turns to Troy next to her and asks him, "So what are you working on?"

"Just some boring finance details on one of our accounts. Of course they tell us  _after_  they agree to the proposal that our budget is too high."

"I didn't think you dealt with that kind of stuff." She brings up the hand wielding the oil pastel to wipe a strand of hair behind her ear, "I don't know, I guess I just forget how many components there are to a whole proposal…" She stops once she sees a dumb smirk on Troy's face. "What?"

"Nothing." Troy states quickly, leaning onto his hand in an attempt to hide his smirk.

"What?" Gabriella asks again.

"Brown really  _is_  your color," Troy says with a laugh.

"What are you-?" Suddenly realizing what she must have done when she wiped the hair out of her face, Gabriella uses her clean hand to wipe her cheek.

"No, leave it! It's cute."

"Why don't we find a  _cute_  color for you?" Gabriella digs through her oil pastel, picking out a light blue one. "Here," she stands above Troy and brings it out towards his face. Troy grabs onto her wrist before she can make contact with his face. "C'mon! It'll match your eyes," She giggles.

"Gabi," he laughs her name, "stop!"

Suddenly, the large glass doors of his office opens and his father, staring down at a paper in his hand, says, "Troy, I need the new budget parameters for the- What is she doing in here?" he asks, pointing an accusing finger at Gabriella.

"Working," Troy answers simply.

"Is there an issue with the studio I've provided for you, Miss. Montez?"

"No, sir." Gabriella answers quietly, head hung low.

"Then I'm having trouble understanding why I found you in here bothering Troy."

"Wait, this was  _my_  idea," Troy interjects. "Not hers."

"Miss. Montez, if you would please finish the remaining sixteen minutes you still owe me in your studio,  _where you're assigned_."

"Yes, sir." Gabriella quietly and quickly gathers her things as the men in the office silently stare at each other.

Once the door falls shut behind her, Mr. Bolton stomps over to Troy's desk and angrily says, "This has got to stop, Troy."

"What exactly? Being friendly to a coworker?"

"Do you really think I'm that thick? Woo that girl on a date. Tell her how pretty you think she is after hours, not on the company's time. I should not need to play dad at work and yell at you to keep the door open!" At this point, Troy knows the best course of action is to get comfortable in his chair, keep his mouth shut, and let Jack ream him.

...

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Troy enters the building lobby from the elevator after a long, tense, and silent ride down with his father. The two begin to approach the front where their cars await them, when Troy spots Gabriella far ahead walking towards the parking garage.

"Hey, I'll see you in the morning," Troy says.

"Where are you going?"

"Just got some stuff to take care of," Troy explains, nodding towards Gabriella's departing figure.

Rolling his eyes, Jack leaves through the massive front doors to his limousine.

Troy quickly catches up to her as he spots her loading her trunk. Walking up quietly behind her, he suddenly blurts out, "I hope you're happy."

"Troy! Will you stop sneaking up behind me like that?" Gabriella slams her trunk shut, and then pivots to face Troy, leaning her hip against the car. "And what do I have to be happy about?"

"You earned me a fifteen minute lecture from my dad about separating my business and personal life."

"Please, Bolton. You earned yourself that lecture." Gabriella teases, then smiles kindly to add, "Honestly, I missed you at work today."

"You missed me?" Troy laughs, "Yeah, right!"

"What? I mean it, I really did."

"You mean you missed your punching bag."

"That too."

"Well the night's not over yet." Troy reminds her hopefully, and then he glances around the parking garage for a moment and finds them to be completely alone. He steps to close the space between them. His hand leaves his side and wanders out to rub her arm. "You want to head over to my place? Watch a movie?"

Gabriella slowly shakes her head regrettably; "Kelsi and I always go out for dinner on Monday nights." Her face lights up as a thought crosses her mind, "Hey, maybe you could join us!"

"Would I be intruding?"

"Of course not! It's casual," Gabriella tells him with a reassuring smile.

"I'd love to!"

...

With Troy trailing closely behind her, Gabriella approaches the small, round table her friend is seated at on the outside patio, "Sorry we're so late."

"It's cool…" Kelsi replies quickly, her eyes glued on the phone held tightly in her hands.

Taking her seat, Gabriella grabs the glass of water on the table and brings it closer to her to sip. "What are you reading?" She asks out of curiosity.

"I was just scrolling through my newsfeed when I was waiting and found an article on the most gruesome deaths in California," Kelsi explains nonchalantly.

"Charming," Troy says, grabbing a chair from the table next to them for himself.

"Here's a recent one! Happened just three years ago." Kelsi reads.

"Lovely," Gabriella sips at the water, then pushes it towards Troy.

"Oh my God, it's so sad!" Kelsi announces, reading silently to herself.

"Alright, you have my curiosity," Gabriella admits, "What does it say?"

"It's that First Steps Daycare tragedy."

"That's right," Gabriella says, looking up towards the cloudy sky to pull out a memory, "I think I heard something about that. The daycare employee killed like seven kids or something like that?"

"Nine actually."

Suddenly, the table violently rattles as Troy aggressively pushes in his chair and quickly flees to the inside of the restaurant.

"What was that about?" Kelsi asks, her eyes following the back of his head.

"I don't know." Gabriella says, her eyes locked on Troy until he disappears behind a wall. "Stay here," Gabriella orders, leaving Kelsi behind and following where Troy was headed.

"Troy?" She calls his name loudly, just around the corner from his position. "Hey," she stops in her tracks once her eyes find him. His typically powerful and confident stance traded for a sad slouch against the wall, leaning into it as though his knees were too weak to carry his body anymore. Then there are his eyes, the typically white areas so red as tears pool and threaten to fall. Her mouth opens to speak, then closes for fear of saying something wrong. Instead, she waits for him.

He separates his lips slowly, his eyes closing for a moment in preparation. Then, once he feels ready, he quietly tells her, "My daughter was one of the kids killed at that daycare."


	14. Losses: Part One

_Three years ago._

The palm tree lined street eventually ended at the entrance of a private, gated community. Inside the exclusive neighborhood sat enormous mansions with absurdly large pools and even bigger garages. Resting in the center of the herd of millionaires sat a massive estate that made the smaller surrounding mansions look  _humble_  by comparison.

To say the estate was simply beautiful would be an understatement. It was everything. The tile floors glistened from the chandeliers anchored high above. Crown molding framed every room with exquisite detail. Vases filled with freshly snipped flowers from the outdoor garden accented nearly every room. Regardless of the beauty of the estate, that was all it was. An important distinction to be made between what is a home and what is just an estate. Home indicates a certain amount of comfort. Estates are superficially beautiful, but are not necessarily homes unless the occupants make it so. It takes the love and soul of a living, breathing family to make the structure they inhabit a true home. This estate, however, was currently vacant of said soul.

"Troy!" Lindsey screeched from the doorway of a guest room, her voice ricocheting off the walls and penetrating into Troy's slumber.

"What?" Troy quickly sat upright in the bed; the sheets once covering over him now bunched on top of his lap.

"Shelly needs a diaper change," Lindsey informed him, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot against the wood floor impatiently.

"Then have Marissa do it," Troy said, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake up.

"Oh, you mean that unreliable nanny you hired? She's hiding away in her room, faking sick. So you need to change Shelly's diaper."

"Why can't you change it, Lindsey?" Troy asked.

"I don't know how to change a diaper!" Lindsey exclaimed, as though even considering the task was entirely beneath a princess like her.

Staring at her incredulously, Troy took a moment to process the information. "How can you possibly have a four month old baby and not know how to change a diaper?" He asked her.

"Fine!" Lindsey stomped, "I'll figure it out."

"No, please! You'll put it on her head or something dumb like that. I'll take care of it." Troy flung the sheets off of him in a huff and stepped out of the bed. Passing by his wife in the door frame, he paused a moment to say, "And good morning to you, too."

...

"Hi, Shelly!" Troy picked up the whining, wiggling infant, his nostrils instantly being assaulted by the gross odor. " _Smelly_  Shelly!" Troy deemed her, twisting his head away to the side while bringing her up against his chest.

The baby rested her head against Troy's warm, strong chest, bringing up a tiny thumb to suck as her father carried her over to the changing station.

"Alright, let's assess the damage," Troy said while pulling the straps of the diaper apart to change it. "Nice work, young one!" Troy jokingly praised her, to which she let out a high-pitched squeal and wiggled her limbs around in happiness.

When Shelly began cooing and gurgling, Troy responded with, "I'm wiping your ass, my child, you better not be smart talking me already."

"What are you doing?" A voice asked from the door with a hint of annoyance and embarrassment.

"Talking to her," Troy answered with some hostility. "I'm allowed to talk to my daughter, Lindsey."

"Whatever," Lindsey shook away the thought with a wave of her hand and continued, "I just heard Marissa throwing up. I don't intend to let her get Shelly sick so you need to find somewhere else to watch her while we're gone."

"We? Where do you think you're going?" Troy asked, finishing up Shelly's business and getting a new diaper on her.

"Chicago!" Lindsey barked as her patience was entirely depleted. The sudden, loud sound scared the baby and induced a crying fit. Rolling her eyes at the blaming glare Troy shot her way, Lindsey spun on her heel and stomped out of the room.

Rubbing her back and gently rocking side to side to sooth the baby, Troy eventually succeeded as Shelly's cries slowly silenced. After placing the tired infant back into her crib, Troy departed the nursery and set out to find Lindsey.

Spotting her figure in the hallway gussying up in a mirror, Troy quietly spat the name "Lindsey," in anger, struggling to keep the fury in his blood from raising his voice too loud, "What on Earth makes you think it's acceptable to yell like that in the presence of a baby?"

"Maybe if you started listening to me I wouldn't get so angry and yell in the first place!" Lindsey argued, the acrylic nails digging into her palms she held in tightly bunched fists at her sides.

"You're blaming me for  _your_  reactions," Troy pointed out. "Can't you see how backwards that is? It's not my fault that you can't contain your anger."

"Who do you think you are?" Lindsey spat, "The perfect husband?"

"I know I'm not perfect, Lindsey," Troy rolled his eyes at her dramatics. "But at least I'm working on it. I would appreciate it if you did, too."

"Oh really, Troy? You're 'working on it' now? You are by far the worst listener I know and you make no effort to work on that whatsoever. I've been talking about Chicago for weeks! You wouldn't have possibly missed that if you were actually listening!"

"I was listening!" Troy defended himself, "I just forgot, okay?"

"Guys," A voice ascending the nearby magnificent, grand stair case interrupted, "Can we please postpone this fight? We  _really_  need to get to the airport, Linds." The desperation in the tone of Lindsey's assistant was thick and his big blue eyes begged them to listen to him, for their departure time was quickly approaching. Being his job to have Lindsey dressed when she needs to be dressed and have her ass in the plane when her ass needed to be sat, Charlie's sole concern was the time and their location still forty minutes away from the airport.

"Charlie's right, you should get going," Troy agreed, beginning to walk back to the nursery when Lindsey erupted again.

"No!" Lindsey stomped her massive Ugg boot against the tile floor. "I wasn't done!"

"Well I am!" Troy yelled in response, "This isn't going anywhere."

Lindsey's hard features suddenly softened to expose an expression that was foreign to her; concern. She crossed her arms shyly and her big brown eyes slowly moistened with tears as she softly asked him, "Then why do we even bother trying anymore if you think this isn't going anywhere, Troy?"

"Lindsey, I'm…I'm talking about this one argument. Not whatever else you were reading into."

"I don't think I'm reading too far into anything, Troy," then, she confessed, "I'm more aware of the state of this marriage than you think."

Charlie had opened his mouth to remind her of the flight again, but once those words were dropped from Lindsey's lips, his mouth quickly shut and his blue eyes glanced back and forth between the two awkwardly. He backed back down the stairs, telling them, "I'll be in the car." And granting them some privacy.

"Honestly, why are we still trying?" Lindsey asked him, her voice quiet and laced with a sadness that was the complete opposite tone from her yells just minutes ago.

"Because that's what you do when you're married," He explained, stepping closer to close the space between them and caringly stroking her arm with his hand. "You keep trying."

Shaking her head in disagreement, she stepped back away from him, "It's only a matter of time until you'll be too tired of this. I can already see it happening. You're exhausted. This drains you."

"I'll admit this is more than I expected when I said 'I do', but I'll live with it because there's nothing else we can do about it."

"There is something we can do about it, though."

Understanding her insinuation, Troy immediately rebutted, "That's not an option, Lindsey. I don't care how tired I get, I'm not giving up on this."

"Why? What is there left?"

Cries emitting from the nursery suddenly interrupted the duo and Troy used them to point out, "Her. Shelly is what's left."

A vibration from Lindsey's phone in her tight jeans stole her attention as she took out the device and said, "Charlie just sent me info about a day care that'll take her for today," She said, "It's right on the way to the airport so I'll take her. You'll have to pick her up after work, though."

"Alright, thank you both. I got to get going."

...

The bedroom had a gentle glow, one that gradually brightened as the sun raised high into the Los Angeles sky this Saturday morning. Taking advantage of their day off from the firm, the lovers continued to rest into the early afternoon, snuggled close to each other's warm bodies.

Eventually, the room's brightness intensified to an unignorable level. His eyelids slowly detached from each other and his brown eyes peered over at the muscular body breathing evenly next to him. Reaching over beneath the sheets, he began drawing small circles on his lover's lower back.

The sensation of the fingers so lightly gliding over his back was almost ticklish. It was enough to slowly pull him out of his deep sleep and into time again.

"Alright, I'm up." His voice sounded croaky and dry from the long night without water. Soon, a fit ensued as the dark skinned, toned figure sat upright and held onto his aching chest while he coughed uncontrollably.

"You okay, baby?" Chad asked, concerned for Ryan. "You don't sound so good."

"No, I don't." Ryan brought his hand up from his chest and towards his throat to feel his inflamed tonsils, "Must be a bug. You should probably go. I wouldn't want you to catch this."

To this, Chad let out a deep, joyous laugh. "After what we did last night? I'm sure it's already way too late." Chad gently placed his hand on Ryan's shoulder to capture his attention, carefully guiding his torso to twist towards him. Once their faces lined up and eye caught onto eye, the two embarked on an adventurous touching and kissing frenzy. Limbs intermixed and tangled as tongues dueled and hands roamed, venturing to find uncharted territory on the vast area of the other's skin. (Although there was little left untouched between these two lovers.) At last, the excitement died down as the pair ied on their backs, gasping for air.

"Wow," Chad began, still heaving, "that was…"

"Spontaneous." Ryan said.

"Yeah." His rapid heart rate finally started to regulate as his breathing slowed too, "Very fun. As always."

"Thank you."

"No, thank  _you_." The two chuckled, appreciating each other's company and their intimate moment and the day off, of course.

"Let's go out for coffee," Ryan suggested suddenly.

"I can make some here just as easily. Won't cost twelve bucks for the both of us, either." Chad said, standing up from the bed and crossing over to his dresser to pull on a pair of boxer briefs.

"Sure, but maybe we can go to the beach later?" Ryan pressed, sitting at the end of the bed, watching Chad as he dressed.

"We'll see." Chad said, leaving the bedroom in only a white T-shirt and his underwear. Quickly dressing in a similar pair of boxer briefs and a soft, light grey T-shirt, Ryan appeared in the kitchen to find Chad grinding up coffee beans.

"So coffee here an then beach later?" Ryan asked.

"I don't know. The beach is going to be really crowded and-"

"You'll think of any excuse not to be seen out in public together, won't you?"

"Ryan," He brought up the steaming hot cup of coffee to his pursed lips, gently blowing on it before cautiously sipping at the hot, bitter drink. Taking his time to formulate a response, Chad finally said, "You already know where I stand with this. Fighting about it yet again is not going to change my mind so why don't we just drop it?"

...

The daycare center was located in the basement of a larger building in downtown Los Angeles, accessible via a dingy elevator that nobody would be surprised if it plummeted someday soon. Currently descending in that elevator was Shelly Bolton, held in the arms of her uncle, Charlie Bennett. Lindsey was too busy in the car filing her nails and gussying up in the rearview mirror to handle Shelly, so, naturally, she commanded Charlie to take her in. Charlie was now cursing his sister and himself for choosing such a poor place to leave Shelly for the day. Troy will most likely be disappointed once he finds out, but it was either this or miss their flight. The location was top priority at the moment so Charlie would just have to go with it.

He buzzed the doorbell of the daycare center and a heavy set, greasy haired man opened the door.

"Hi!" Charlie greeted him friendly, "I'm Charlie Bennett, here to drop off Shelly Bolton. I believe we spoke earlier?"

"Uh, yeah," the man unconfidently confirmed, "That was me."

"Fifty for today was the rate we agreed upon, does that still stand?"

"Sure." He said, his buggy eyes glancing around uncomfortably.

 _This dude is weird_ , Charlie thought.  _This whole place is weird._   _No_ , Charlie told himself,  _you're just being judgmental_. Deciding that the red flags he felt was entirely because of Charlie's own judgments, he passed Shelly into the arms of the man. Suddenly, his phone erupted in buzzes and bells as it rang.

"Hello?" He asked into the device.

"Charlie! Let's go!" Lindsey yelled into the phone before hanging up on him.

"Her father, a man by the name of Troy Bolton, will pick her up around four in the afternoon I believe."

"Yeah, bye," the man said before closing the door in Charlie's face.

Charlie hovered for just a moment, completely conflicted with the situation. Was he just being judgmental of a socially anxious man who was really no threat? Or was the nervous feeling in his gut there for a reason? There was no way to tell, so Charlie made the decision to leave for the airport without Shelly.


	15. Losses: Part Two

_Three years ago._

"I'm not a team lead, I'm not even a team lead  _assistant_! So why the hell do  _I_  have to come in on a Saturday?" Blake whined on the phone to his listener, his feet tossed up on his desk as he leaned back in his chair.

"I know!" Sharpay said. "They seriously need to start hiring more people or I just won't come in. I'm  _so_  done with this weekend working!"

"Tell me about it," Blake said.

"Speaking of telling each other things…" Sharpay cleared her voice.

"Sharpay, before you even ask, I have nothing," Blake stated. He dropped his feet from the desk and bringing them back on the floor to stand. With the corded phone snuggled between his ear and shoulder, he took out his laptop and a few blueprints to work on.

"Come on, I know you're not as oblivious as you pretend to be," Sharpay flattered him. "You're a smart guy, and it's possible you pick up on more than even you realize."

"Please, I realize I pick up on more than I'd like to."

"So you  _do_  have information!"

"Alright," Blake cursed at himself for the slip, "but I got to make this quick." Sitting down in his chair again, he fed Sharpay the information she craved, "I'm certain my secretary Janice lost her dog. She's been crying all morning while taking down all the photos of him on her desk. I don't know if that's the stuff you're looking for, but that's all I got."

"It'll have to do." Somewhat satisfied, Sharpay allowed him to go back to work. "I'll call you again after lunch."

"Oh, can't wait," Blake responded sarcastically before putting the phone down. Just as his hand was hovering in the air on its journey back, the device erupted in a ringing fit again.

"This is Blake." He answered, "Good morning to you, too Mr. Bolton…Conference room?...Sure thing!" He said with faux enthusiasm. Placing the phone down firmly this time, Blake reluctantly crossed his office towards the door.

"I'm occupied," He informed his receptionist on the way out.

"Okay," Janice sniffled, tightly grasping onto a soft tissue, dampened from her tears.

Blake took an immediate left out of his office and passed by Troy's on his way. Through the nearly deserted cubicle forest, across from the draft studio and further down the hallway was the conference room. On the screen on the far end of the room was a projected blueprint of the project they were set to discuss today.

Taking a seat across from Troy, Blake attempted to listen to Mr. Danforth's nearly monotonous voice drone on and on about their project for almost three hours. When finally, "Whoops, looks like we're getting a call." Charlie said, interrupting himself and eyeing the ringing cellphone in his hand, "Jack, I'll need you on this one. Please excuse us, boys." Charlie said, leading Jack out of the conference room and into the hallway to talk to the client on the phone.

Not sure what else to look at, Blake watched Troy and witnessed him let out a tall yawn and rub his slightly reddened eyes. "Tough night?" Blake asked, unsure why he'd even be remotely interested in hearing about Troy's personal life.

"You could say that," Troy responded.

"Trouble in paradise?" Blake pressed on.

"Again, you could say that," Troy commented with a humorless chuckle. Slouching forward on his elbow, he bent his arm so that his chin and heavy head could rest on his hand. He continued, "The wife was going off on me about how I spend too much time at work."

"At least no woman or problem is too big for a little whiskey to handle, am I right?"

"I usually just hide out in the nursery with my daughter when Lindsey's being especially vicious."

"Coping mechanisms are pretty personalized. I have my whiskey and you have your daughter. To each their own."

"I'm very sorry about that," the low, baritone voice said, announcing Jack's presence. "Anyways…" Jack began to continue, then abruptly ceased once he spotted a young woman peeking into the conference room. "Can I help you, Miss?"

She looked about the room nervously, aware and uncomfortable of everyone's eyes on her. Then, she spoke directly to Jack, "There are some men - police officers here to see Mr. Bolton."

"Oh?" Jack responded, visibly surprised by the information. "Well, excuse me, gentlemen," he said to men and pushed the chair he was leaning on in and started to move towards the door.

"I'm sorry, sir," The receptionist spoke up again. "I meant Mr. Troy Bolton." In a nearly synchronized fashion, the entire room whipped their eyes to Troy to see if he had anticipated the visit, but his surprised and shocked expression told them no.

Swallowing a small lump of nerves in his throat, Troy sheepishly stood from his seat and made his way around the table to the door, following the woman into the firm's reception area where a small group of police officers waited.

"Troy Bolton?" One of them asked, glancing from the receptionist to Troy.

"Yes, is there something I can do for you gentlemen?" Troy asked.

"Actually, is there anywhere more private we can move?" He requested.

"Sure," Troy spoke softly, unconfidently. "I can lead you to my office, but first, what is this concerning?"

"It'd be best for us to discuss the matter privately in the office."

Troy stood still for a moment, taking turns looking at each of the officers.  _Something's wrong_ , he thought.

...

The air was heavy with tension as Chad's last words echoed in kitchen. He already saw where this was headed…again. These things always went from arguing, to yelling, and then finally to crying. Their fights rarely had a happy ending and were something to avoid at all costs.

Ryan, on the other hand, was irritated by Chad when it came to him avoiding their issues. More especially, it enraged him that Chad seemed mostly annoyed by his wants to talk, "No, I won't just 'drop it' this time, Chad," Ryan spat angrily.

"Here we go again." Chad mumbled into his coffee mug before taking a long, much needed swig. It was way too early for a talk of this caliber and seriousness, but he knew that Ryan was determined to have it. Chad quickly chugged his cup of coffee in an effort to wake up and prepare for battle.

"I want to go to take a stroll on the beach with you," Ryan began gently, not angered or in an argumentative tone. Instead, he was rather passionate about the message he needed to convey, "hand in hand. I want to go out on dates like a normal couple. Most importantly, I want our friends to know about us."

"I know what you want." Chad set down the empty coffee cup on the marble countertop with a soft clank. His finger tips lingered on the rim of the cup, tracing around it in circles as he spoke grimly, "You've told me all this before and I'm sorry, but I can't give you that." Finally removing his hand from the cup, Chad met Ryan's eyes, "I just can't, Ryan."

"Be honest with me, Chad." Ryan reached out and grabbed Chad's hand, lightly cradling it between his. "How long do you plan on hiding this for? I mean do you  _ever_  think you'll come out?"

"I don't know!" Chad snapped, jerking his hand out of Ryan's grasp. "I'm not even sure I'm gay! I might just be bi. Or straight. For all we know this could just be a phase."

After an unnaturally elongated and tense soundlessness, Ryan finally spoke up again, asking, "Is this just a phase to you?" He held a hand to his aching heart while his eyes swelled, "Because I love you and that's not something people just phase through! You are not a phase to me!" Chad couldn't force himself to look into Ryan's watering, hurt eyes. Guiltily, Chad stared at the floor, too far buried by his shame to muster a response. "You can't seriously expect me to wait around while you figure it out, do you?" Ryan finally asked.

"Well, I going to be selfish here and ask you to anyways. I honestly don't know if this is what I want yet, or if this is who I am…I need some time."

Ryan wanted commitment, reciprocated feelings, and to be out with Chad. Ryan wanted promises. He wanted to hear those three words from Chad more than anything. And he wanted to go on dates and hold his hand in public, unashamed. But over everything he yearned for, he just wanted to be with Chad. He'd take a flawed relationship with Chad than a life without Chad at all any day. So reluctantly, Ryan obliged, "Okay."

...

"Can I get you gentlemen something to drink? I have bottled water." Troy offered, holding his office door open for the policemen to enter.

"We're alright, son." The eldest of the officers answered for the others, "Why don't we all take a seat?" He suggested almost regrettably, silence left to linger in the air after a heavy sigh.

"Okay," Troy softly replied, his voice too shaky to be louder than a whisper.

After everyone was seated, the eldest officer spoke up again. "We received a call this morning," he leaned forward onto his elbows that rested on his knees, "around seven thirty. Someone overheard a commotion in the First Steps Daycare Center." His voice was even, practiced as though he told parents these things all the time. "The paramedics were the first on the scene. There had been some murders. Then they found your daughter Shelly and gave her all the attention they could, but unfortunately, they couldn't help her anymore. She was pronounced dead at the scene. We're all very sorry for your loss."

...

None if it could possibly be true. No way on Earth did his father and mother put their differences aside to support him through the funeral arrangements. Lindsey didn't demand her to be buried in Chicago, near where her grandfather was buried. Then it was impossible that her body was being transported in the plane just behind them. And now, that small casket Lindsey was on her knees bawling in front of did not contain their daughter's lifeless body. It just couldn't be true. It couldn't be happening.

"You should say your goodbyes," for a dream, the sound of his father's voice and the feeling of his hand on his shoulder felt impressively lifelike.

He finally moved from his place at the back of the tent and slowly approached the small casket in the front. It looked unnatural, he thought of a casket made that small. He couldn't even force himself to look at it and acknowledge its existence, or acknowledge any of this was happening. Instead, his eyes peered straight ahead and through the gap in the tent curtains to a line of trees across the cemetery.

...

It was a mere few minutes after they lowered her body that he spotted Lindsey's figure, covered in a slimming, small black dress with an accent of pink on the neckline, quickly approaching him. "These are for you," She said, handing him a slim stack of stapled papers.

The top paper had written in clear, black text  _Petition For Divorce,_  and Troy's eyes read and reread the title time and time again, the meaning becoming vaguely clearer with each pass of his eye. Until finally, the meaning registered as a seething feeling of betrayal and hurt coursed through his blood. "Hold on just a second," he said, his voice low with a spitting anger latched onto every syllable. "You picked the day of our daughter's funeral to serve me divorce papers?"

Her voice was quiet and she held herself with a confidence and air that said she was not only aware of the divorce, but fully accepted it as though she had seen it coming for years. "Don't act like you're not relieved, Troy."

"Who the hell would be relieved by a divorce?" Troy asked exasperatedly.

"We should be. It signifies an end to all the pain. All the fighting, the bickering, the yelling, the arguing, the sleeping in different rooms, all of it is done. We've finally reached the end. I don't know what else it could be besides a relief."

"I'm sorry," he said unapologetically, "but I guess when I vowed my  _life_  to you I thought you meant it, too!"

"I'm sorry," She answered simply. "I'll see you in court."

His mind was buzzing with questions,  _What ever happened? How could she do this? Was there someone else?_  Perhaps most important of them all,  _Why? Why not during the worst of it? Why did she wait?_ "Lindsey!" He called after her.

"Troy, whatever you want, just save it for the judge." She brushed him off with a wave of her hand and continued her path towards her car.

"I'm not worried about splitting everything with you yet," Troy said, following her. She knew it would be foolish to attempt to outrun him in high heels on grass, so she turned back toward him as he continued, "I just want to know why. Why now especially? It's been worse in the past. Why now?"

"Remember how the morning it happened, you said that Shelly was the only reason we were still together?" Lindsey paused, gathering herself, "Shelly's six feet under. We've lost our baby and our reason."


	16. Green: Part One

_January 18th, 2016.  
Monday._

_The emergency call center received a call at around noon after a building occupant heard a concerning commotion from inside the daycare center. "I live two floors above the basement where the daycare center is located. I usually hear a few cries here and there. But the cries this day were so different, so horrendous," the witness recalls. "Absolutely inexplicable, but sometimes I can still hear them like it just happened a few minutes ago. They completely stopped me in my tracks. I tried just walking away, telling myself it wasn't anything. It was denial at first, I think. It was too concerning to ignore, so I called 911."_

_They arrived to a horrific sight. One of the more seasoned first responders deeming it the "goriest and most gruesome scenes (he's) ever witnessed on the job." Blood splatter patterns indicated that…_

Slightly unnerved at the amount of detail the article begins to include, Kelsi clicks the app closed with a tap of her finger on the touchscreen. Slightly lifting herself up to hover over the chair, her eyes squint and scan the inside of the restaurant for either Gabriella or Troy. Picking up her phone again, she quickly types Gabriella a message.

_Everything OK?_

...

Located in a claustrophobic hallway between the dining area and the bathrooms, Gabriella and Troy stand beneath a heavy silence. Troy rubs his hand over his mouth and short stubble uncertainly, his watery eyes peering over the top of Gabriella's head.

"Are you okay?" Gabriella softly asks, and then scans her surroundings anxiously while babbling on uncontrollably. "I mean, I know you're not. I can see that. I'm sorry, that was so dumb to ask."

"Gabi," Troy says, putting up a hand for her to stop. "It's okay."

"I just," Gabriella explains, "I don't know what to say, but I want to help you because I care about you and seeing you this distressed worries me."

"No, don't worry about it, Gabi," Troy places his hands on Gabriella's shoulders. "Go back and enjoy your dinner with Kelsi, alright? I don't want you to worry about this."

He starts to guide her out into the dining area, when she moves his hands off of her and halts, "Well, I am. I really want to help you, Troy. Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm – I'm fine. I can take care of this alone," Troy insists.

"I'm not saying you can't," Gabriella speaks, her hand reaching out and gently wrapping her fingers around Troy's forearm. "All I'm saying is that you don't have to."

She's not demanding him to share, to talk about all of his problems and issues. She's not forcing him to open up to her. She's offering it. Slowly, Troy nods in understanding.

Gabriella offers again, "Again, is there anything I can do? Anything at all?"

Before Troy has time to answer, a woman passes by them en route to the restroom. Recognizing this hallway would not be an ideal location for a heart to heart, Troy suggests, "I think it would be better if we were somewhere more private."

"Okay, let me just say goodbye to Kelsi first."

...

Drawing water art with the circles of condensation left by their glasses quickly becomes more boring than it sounds. Kelsi adjusts her sore bottom in the metal patio chair for probably the third time when she finally spots Gabriella scurrying back to the table.

"Where's Troy?" Kelsi inquires.

"We're leaving," Gabriella explains, quickly untangling her purse's strap from the back of her chair.

"Where are we going?" Kelsi asks in a rush to gather her things as well.

"No, Kelsi," Gabriella stops and lowers back into her chair to explain, "I mean Troy and I. Alone. I'm sorry, something's come up."

"So you're just ditching me, then?" Kelsi asks, unbelievingly.

"Kelsi, please! You know it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Kelsi asks.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you what's going on. It's really personal. We'll go out tomorrow."

"Gabriella," Kelsi begins to argue.

"I'll pay for your meal tomorrow night. Alright?" Gabriella bargains, standing to leave, "I'm sorry, I really have to go."

...

Troy, with a foot propped up on the glass coffee table in front of the red leather sofa, comfortably talks while Gabriella leans against his arm and rests her head on his shoulder, just listening.

"So I had barely finished bawling my eyes out, you know? I was still sniffling with a few tears still falling here and there. And Lindsey thought, 'oh, perfect! I'll do it now'."

Gabriella asks, "Do what?"

"Hand me a stack of divorce papers."

Gasping, Gabriella brings her hands up over her mouth in shock. "What? That is awful!"

"We weren't even out of the cemetery or anything. It was literally right there. Right next to our child's grave"

"That's so horrible. She sounds like a devil woman. Where is Lindsey now?"

"I couldn't say. She showed up out of nowhere like a year and a half ago here, asking about salvaging anything left between us. It was really weird. I told her no and to never find me again. Haven't seen her since."

"I can't believe a person like her could even find a husband in the first place." Gabriella shakes her head in disbelief, leaning forward to grab the glass of water on the coffee table to drink.

"If it's any explanation, I was very young and the world was just so small to me still. I honestly believed she was the only girl I would ever love in my entire life. I never considered any other way. Anyways, I'm sorry to make this all about me. First I stole you away from your dinner with Kelsi and now I won't shut up about myself."

"I don't mind it one bit," Gabriella says, placing the glass of water back down and reclaiming her original position leaning against Troy's arm, her feat curled up on the couch beside her. "Honestly I'm happy you're talking about it so much because it shows that on some level you're comfortable and trust me."

"That's a very optimistic way to see it. I would just think I'm being a self-centered ass in your place."

A soft giggle sounds from Gabriella's small smile as she kids, " _Well_ …"

"Well what?" Troy glances down to see Gabriella, smiling over her.

"I don't know," she breaks, giggling, "I was just trying to give you a hard time."

"As you always do."

"Oh shush, you," Gabriella orders with a playful smirk.

"Seriously though, I've been talking way too much. Let me listen."

"I'm not really sure what to tell you…" she confesses shyly, picking at her nails in habit. "Well," She rests her hands on her thighs, then takes a moment to breathe in a deep breath in preparation, and then shares, "I was the one to find my father."

"What do you mean 'find' him?"

"Dead."

...

_Their bodies would ever so often shift and jerk from the potholes randomly scattered atop the road. His wrinkle-framed eyes occasionally glanced into the rearview mirror, causing a smile to form on his face from the sight of his beautiful daughter in the backseat. The newest pop song played on the radio as a young Gabriella shyly mumbled along with the lyrics. She twiddled with her backpack's straps in her lap as they made their way from her elementary school to their house a few neighborhoods East._

_"Dad?" Gabriella piped up in her sweet, high-pitched voice._

_"Yes, honey?" Clark responded with his hands still locked on the steering wheel._

_"Mrs. Johnson said today that I could be put in a seventh grade pre-algebra class." Gabriella shared with a confident smile._

_"Wow!" Clark exclaimed, "You can handle pre-algebra at ten years old? That's amazing, honey! I'm so proud of you! Wait until your mother hears about this. You are an awfully smart girl, Gabriella. Don't you ever doubt that."_

_Beaming with happiness at her father's pride for her, Gabriella promises through her characteristically large smile, "I won't."_

_"That's my girl." Clark says, the car awkwardly swaying from side to side as he pulls into the steep driveway._

_Awkwardly squeezed between two towering houses, their home appeared more like a quaint cottage in comparison to the surrounding structures. The homeowner's association was undoubtedly disgruntled by their newest paint treatment since it wasn't an earthy tone like the rest of the suburb, but a vivid, pastel yellow instead. To compliment the yellow, the shutters framing the windows were covered with a fresh coat of dark green paint. The windowpanes and front door were painted white and reflected the bright Los Angeles sun directly into little Gabriella's eyes as she approached her home._

_"Where are you going, Gabi?" Clark asked his daughter as she waited by the front door for it to be unlocked._

_Glancing over her shoulder at him, she responded, "inside."_

_"Why would you want to go inside?" He asked, resting his hands on his hips and breathing slightly heavily._

_"It's hot." She responded quietly, adjusting her shoulders around beneath the heavy backpack straps._

_"It's barely ninety!" Clark argued, "Just wait until it's actually summer, you'll be cooped up inside for months! Back in my day, we played outside whenever it was nice without question. According to me, it's nice outside. So we're playing outside. Go get a baseball from the shed."_

_Slowly, Gabriella took her time sliding the backpack from her back and placing it down on the concrete stoop. Whining to herself, she reluctantly walked around the side of the house and to the shed in the backyard. "Hustle!" She heard her dad order._

_It was a tricky lock, one that required the right proportion of wiggling to pushing. Eventually, Gabriella's tiny frame lunged against the shed door until it finally pushed in. She found her old red wagon with a missing wheel supporting a pile of boxes marked Christmas Decorations. Next to that was a plastic cauldron holding a bunch of fake zombie baby dolls for Halloween, but no baseball. Her eyes scanned around the dim shed before finally spotting a baseball on a top shelf to her right. She planted her foot firmly on the first shelf and crawled her way up to the top to grab the ball._

_She made sure to shut the shed door firmly behind her, and then used her arm to wipe off a thick layer of sweat from her forehead. By the time she made her way to the front of the house again, her mother had come home from work and was talking to her father._

_"Oh honey, you're drenched!" Maria observed, quickly lowering down to her daughter's level and putting her cool hands against Gabriella's forehead to feel for heat. "Why don't you go inside and get yourself a glass of water?"_

_"Maria, she's fine!" Clark argued._

_"She's not fine, she's hot and dehydrated. You know that shed is like a sauna!" Turning back to address Gabriella, Maria gently says, "Head inside, dear."_

_Obeying her mother, Gabriella grabbed her backpack from the hot concrete and took it inside. Maria and Clark remained in a standoff in the front yard._

_"You're spoiling her with that air conditioner, you know. That kid needs to get to know a little nature."_

_"But if you force the outdoors on her, she's going to rebel." Maria argued, "You can introduce her to mother nature once it's a little more shady, like after dinner." With that, Maria set off for the house._

_Gabriella glanced up from the TV to her mom, a massive glass of ice water held between her small hands. Sighing, Maria took a seat next to Gabriella and put a hand on her damp back. "How are you feeling, honey?"_

_"A little bit queasy." Gabriella replied before bringing up the glass to take a few more sips._

_"How was school?" Maria asked, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning down the volume._

_"Good," Gabriella took another sip, "Mrs. Johnson thinks I can take pre-algebra."_

_"Do you think you can handle that?"_

_"I think so. I really don't know, actually." Gabriella said unconfidently with her head down low._

_"I'll let you do it only if you believe you can do it well…what is that?" Maria asked upon hearing a roaring sound from outside the house. Crossing over to the kitchen window, she looked out to find her husband pushing a lawnmower atop the browning grass. "Your father", she shook her head disapprovingly, "is as stubborn as stubborn gets." She pulled the lacy curtain on the window closed and walked back to watch cartoons with Gabriella._

_A half-hour of Spongebob Squarepants later, Gabriella spoke up, "Mama?"_

_"Yes, dear?"_

_"I'm hungry." She said, rubbing her empty stomach._

_"I think I have some applesauce in the fridge to hold you over until supper," Maria offered, standing up and turning towards the kitchen._

_"What's for dinner?" Gabriella asked, following closely behind her mom._

_"I'm not sure," She answered, leading a finger up to her lip in thought. "Go ask your father if he wants to grill tonight."_

_"Okay!" Gabriella happily responded and set out the front door to seek Clark. Meanwhile, Maria stayed inside and fished out some applesauce and carrots from the fridge. She found a bowl in a cabinet and was transporting handfuls of carrots into it when she was interrupted._

_"Mom!" Gabriella yelled into the house as she sprinted across the main level for the kitchen. Breathing heavily and visibly panicked, she said, "Daddy's dead!"_

_"He what?" Maria asked calmly, not processing or remotely believing what her daughter had said._

_"He won't get up!"_

...

"Damn, that's really tough." Troy says, reaching his hand out to grasp hers and resting them on his leg.

"Yeah," Gabriella says softly, letting his fingers gently brush and trace over her open palm. "Tell me about it."

"I can only imagine how difficult it must be to lose a parent and so young especially. Even as an adult I'm fearing the day my mom or dad dies."

"I can see why you would. It doesn't sound like you handle loss very well."

"Does anybody?" Troy asks, maneuvering his fingers to interlock with hers, then using his thumb to stroke the side of her hand.

"I think humans all universally go through the same feelings associated with loss and eventually find their way through the grieving process. I guess the big difference between people who take it well and the people who don't comes down to outlook."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, looking on the bright side! The glass is half full, not half empty. Finding a sparkle of light in the sea of dark. I could give you clichés all day, but I see it a little differently."

"How so?"

"I like to imagine it like sitting underneath a tree on a cool, yet sunny day. Sometimes a cloud or the branches and leaves will obscure any light from reaching you and you start to feel cold. That's the hard parts of life. Feeling lifeless, alone, scared. But then by the grace of God or whatever runs this universe, a ray of sunshine finds its way through the clouds and leaves and branches above and warms you. Those rays represent the happy moments, your friends and family, hope. It doesn't matter how long you're hidden in the shadows because once those rays touch you, you're soothed to the core. It's the hope in knowing that those rare, sacred rays will find me again that keeps me going."

"Is it too soon to say that I think you're one of the sacred rays in my life?"

With her free hand, she covers her large smile and blushing red cheeks, "Troy," She coos in a high-pitched squeak.

"You are!" He tosses his head back in thought, a small smile forming on his lips as his eyes dart around his ceiling thinking about her, "This is honestly becoming one of the happiest times in my life and most of it stems from getting to know you. I seriously have nothing to complain about with you. I think everything about you is wonderful. Your beauty, your passion for art, your playful side, your intelligence, your depth. The list goes on and on."

"I'm seriously smiling so hard it hurts!" Gabriella laughs, suddenly aware of the death grip she has on Troy's hand from her excitement.

"That's what I'm aiming for here."


	17. Green: Part Two

_January 19th, 2016.  
Tuesday._

Daintily stirring the cream into her morning coffee, Tiara then gently taps the plastic stirrer on the side of her mug. After carelessly flinging the stirrer into the trashcan underneath the sink, she clasps the mug in between her cold hands. Her cherry shaded lips purse out as she gently blows on the steaming beverage. She quietly coughs in disgust after the tiny sip, suddenly realizing she forgot the sugar. Once she turns around to grab the sugar, her ears perk at the sound of someone entering the break room behind her. "About time you got here," she says, not glancing away from her work with the sugar, "I'm absolutely  _dying_ to hear the rest of what happened with Eric."

After a prolonged silence, Tiara is irked to look at Sharpay, only to realize that the person entering was not Sharpay at all.

"I'm sorry…" Gabriella spits out awkwardly, "I was just coming in to get some coffee."

"Gosh, I'm sorry. I thought you were…please, come in." Tiara moves a step over from the pot, creamer, and sugar on the counter to make room for Gabriella.

"Thanks." Gabriella shyly flashes a smile, and then opens the dark wooden cabinets above for her mug.

"Have you been adjusting to the new job well?" Tiara asks after a moment of silence, her eyes scanning up and down Gabriella's clothes to judge her outfit.

"Yes. I have," Gabriella responds, cautiously pouring her coffee above the sink. "It's nothing super intimidating or challenging to me. Just drawing and sketch work as always."

"It must get lonely working in that studio all day."

"I don't know, time flies over there." The pot clicks back into place on its brewer as she sets it down.

"Seems like Troy makes a lot of visits down the hallway to accompany you," Tiara states almost tauntingly.

Gabriella looks up from pouring in the creamer as her eyes squint in on Tiara suspiciously. "Yes," she answers simply.

"Just observing." Tiara shrugs, stepping back towards the window. "Not trying to invade your privacy."

"Not like I'd have anything to hide," Gabriella quickly quips back.

Faking a smile that lasts longer than it should, Tiara leaves saying, "Enjoy your coffee."

Alone, Gabriella quickly finishes preparing her coffee and sets out down the hallway for her studio.

...

Inside the conference room, Zeke, Chad, Ryan, and Jason all sit in silence checking their phones. When suddenly, the door opens as Troy enters the room and announces joyously, "Good morning, team!"

"You're way too happy for an eight AM meeting," Zeke observes almost disapprovingly.

"Well, I just had one of the best nights of my life last night," Troy confirms as he places his briefcase on the floor next to his feet and takes a seat next to Jason.

"You want to tell us why?" Jason asks tiredly, mumbling the words as though he weren't truly interested.

As Troy unbuttons his jacket, he peers across the table and out the window to the neighboring skyscraper in thought. A small smile tugs on his lips as he says, "Gabriella and I hung out. We talked a lot. It was pretty intimate."

Chad asks, "Intimate? You mean…did you guys…you know?"

"No, no," Troy says with a shake of his head. "I meant emotionally. Nothing physical. We haven't even kissed yet."

Zeke congratulates him, "That's still awesome, man!"

Jason says, "You guys haven't kissed! What are you waiting for?"

Troy responds, "Not sure, really. We're just not in a rush like he and Taylor evidently are."

"Wait…" Jason says, his eyes wide in shock as he looks to Chad, "You and Taylor have?"

Chad admits, "Well, I'm not one to kiss and tell, but…yeah. We have."

Ryan pleads, "Can we please focus on the project? Please?"

Troy says, "What's the problem?"

Jason theorizes, "He's just bitter because you guys have ladies in your lives but he's just a lonely bachelor."

Ryan shakes his head, "I'm not jealous about anything. I seriously could not care less who you guys bang or grow close with."

Troy says, "Sorry to bother you with it so much."

"No, Troy. I didn't mean you. I'm really happy about you and Gabriella."

Zeke buts in, "So…Does that mean you're  _not_  happy about Chad and Taylor?"

The silence grows louder and louder with every passing second Ryan withholds from answering. Jason, Zeke, and Troy glance around at everyone at the table in confusion while Chad and Ryan engage in a stare off. Finally, Chad asks Ryan, "Hallway?"

"Sure," Ryan agrees, standing and crossing around the long table to the door as Chad leads them out.

Zeke leans over to ask Troy, "What do you think is going on with them?"

"I have no idea," Troy says.

Outside the conference room, Chad and Ryan walk down the hallway to the very end and finally stop to face each other.

"You need to get it together," Chad says. "They're getting suspicious. What happened, man? We were doing fine as just friends. Things were getting back to the way they were."

For a moment, Ryan stood silently and stared into Chad's eyes incredulously. Is Chad really that oblivious? Ryan finally bluntly explains it, "Things were going fine again until you started shoving your new girlfriend in my face. Talking about how awesome she is every single morning like I couldn't compete."

"What? Ryan, I'm just excited about her is all. I never once talked about her with the intentions of making you feel bad. You have to believe me when I say that wasn't my intention at all. I'm just not that kind of person."

"I'm sorry, I guess I was reading too far into you talking about her in front of me."

"It's okay." Chad says, squeezing Ryan's shoulder comfortingly. "Let's get back in there."

Ryan merrily nods, trying his hardest not to feel anything about that touch as they head back to the conference room.

...

"I'm feeling pretty confident about our progress, team," Troy says as he wraps up their collaboration, "I'll send it off to my dad for approval and hopefully he'll let us present it to the clients soon. Great work, everyone!"

"Thanks, captain!" Chad exclaims as the others chuckle.

"What?" Troy asks, grinning cluelessly.

"Nothing," Chad shrugs, "Just giving you crap as always."

Shaking his head at the ground with a faint smile alive on his lips, Troy says, "I swear, you and Gabi have conspired to harass me when the other's too busy."

"Yes, we have your whole day scheduled out for continuous harassment," Chad begins, holding the door open for Troy to exit behind him. The two both spot a beautiful brunette approaching them from down the hallway. "Right on time to relieve me. See ya." Chad says, nodding to Gabriella as he walks down the other way.

Chuckling to himself from Chad, Troy says, "Hey," and reaches his hand around to rest on her back, the satin of her green blouse glazing his palm.

"You look awfully chipper today, Troy." Gabriella smiles back, bringing her hand up to touch the sleeve of his jacket.

"Just something funny Chad was saying, plus I've been in a great mood ever since last night," Troy shyly admits with a light blush.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one," Gabriella says, sheepishly fiddling with the corners of a draft in her hands.

"Am I being unrealistic in hoping there's a chance you'd like to come to my place after work today?" Troy asks, his hand floating around to grab her by the back of her elbow.

"Sorry, no can do. I'm hanging out with Kelsi to apologize for ditching her last night."

"Oh, right." Troy says, a look of guilt flashing across his face for an instant, "Tell her I'm sorry for me, would you?"

"Sure."

"What do you two usually do when you guys hang out? Talk about art stuff?"

Gabriella giggles, "Sure, some of that. We go clubbing a lot, too, but I think we'll need to start cutting down on that soon. Life is getting too busy to juggle work, art,  _and_  getting wasted. Plus Taylor is getting really tired of me being too hung over to volunteer."

"Sobriety will open many doors. Trust me."

"What about now? Do you have lunch plans?"

"No, I don't. I know this awesome eatery that specializes in gourmet salads."

"Sounds interesting. Let's try it!"

"That's the adventurous spirit!"

...

The frumpy, sweating hostess explains in a rush, "I'm sorry, we only have outside seating available. Busier crowd than usual."

"Not to worry, we're fine with an outside seat. Right, Gabi?" Troy asks, looking down at the Latina held tightly against his side.

"Yes, it's beautiful out!" Gabriella agrees.

"Right this way, please." The hostess grabs two menus and begins to lead them through the restaurant to the patio seating.

"After you," Troy says, motioning with his hand for her to lead.

Gabriella walks in front, but grabs his hand for him to trail closely behind her.

"Here we are," The hostess sets the menus down on a glass table in the sun and leaves back for her station.

"Thank you," Troy says, taking off his jacket and rolling his sleeves up, then taking his seat across from Gabriella.

"I'm very curious about something," Gabriella says, placing her hands in front of her on the warm table.

"Ask away." Troy says, leaning onto the table and automatically reaching out to hold Gabriella's hands in his.

Looking down at their hands for a moment, she then locks her eyes onto his again and asks, "What is with you today?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just naturally have that little smile on your face it seems."

"I'm just in a really incredible place now. I'm trying to absorb every sacred ray that touches me, like you said."

"Well I'm really happy I could help."

After exchanging smiles, Troy locks his eyes on their hands while Gabriella closes hers and relaxes as he massages her hands. "Are we ready to order?" The waitress interrupts, startling the both of them.

"Oh, I'm sorry, no." Troy says.

"I totally forgot what we were doing," Gabriella admits, quickly picking up the menu and naming off the first item she saw. "I'll do the kale and smoked salmon salad, please."

"Same for me," Troy says nonchalantly.

"It'll be about ten minutes." The waitress says before grabbing their menus and heading around to the other tables.

...

From the moment she arrived at her apartment, her shoes were kicked off and her scrubs traded for pajama pants and a tank top, braless of course. Taylor currently lounges on their sofa as her spoon struggles against the frozen half-gallon of cookie dough ice cream. Finally stabbing into the resilient dessert, she scoops out a hearty amount and shoves it into her mouth. A few tears trace their way down her cheeks and curve onto her lips, creating a salty-sweet effect in her mouth.

An hour later, Gabriella unlocks the door and enters to find Taylor cuddling the empty container, effectively passed out in a sugar coma. She tosses her keys and bag onto the coffee table before gently maneuvering the container out of Taylor's tight hold.

Waking due to the shifting of her arms, Taylor speaks up croakily, "I'm sorry I dug into the ice cream before you got home. It's been an exhausting day."

Sighing understandingly, Gabriella puts the container down on the coffee table and takes a seat in the armchair next to the sofa. Gently rubbing Taylor's back supportingly, she asks, "You okay? Looks like you were crying by the state of your mascara. What happened? You were fierce this morning."

"My favorite patient passed away right before I left. I could barely see the road ahead of me through all the tears as I was driving."

"Oh, Taylor," Gabriella reaches to hold her hand. "I'm so sorry."

"I'll be okay," Taylor sniffles, fighting back a few of the stinging fresh tears pooling in her eyelids again. "Well," she corrects herself; "I  _will_  be okay after a Netflix marathon with you."

"Oh," Gabriella tenses up, "about that…I kind of promised Kelsi her and I would go out tonight to make up for me ditching her last night. Is it possible you could call Chad? Or better yet, why don't you come out with us? It'll be fun!"

"It's alright. I think I'll call Chad, I really don't want to go out again."

The obnoxious bell buzzes telling Gabriella that Kelsi has arrived. Grabbing her bag and keys off the table, she leaves with the departing words, "suit yourself."

...

"He's so amazing, Kelsi, I'm telling you," Gabriella shares, looking up to the lights above in thought. Smiling to herself, she continues, "It seems like we're really compatible for each other. He's so sensitive and thoughtful, and he really values me. It's just amazing."

"Mm hmm." Kelsi says, shoving in forkfuls of fettuccini alfredo.

"Slow down there, Kels. You'll inhale it all. Wait, I've seen this before on you. You're stress eating! What is it? Is it Troy? Do you not think he's right for me?"

"What? No. Not at all," Kelsi mumbles, struggling to swallow down the mouthful of Italian food. "He's perfect. Congratulations. It's just…" Kelsi lets out a heavy, labored sigh and folds the napkin over her lap before staring straight into Gabriella's eyes and saying, "Alright, there's no easy way to say this so I'm just going to have to give it to you straight."

"Okay," Gabriella says quietly, suddenly overcome with nerves about Kelsi's secret.

"We need to find another sponsor to keep up with rent at the studio."

"What happened to Rick?" Gabriella asks calmly, the reality of it all not quite sinking in yet.

"He tried to make a move on me and got very demanding about it like I owed him."

Fuming with anger, Gabriella exclaims, "That son of a bit-!"

"Gabi!" Kelsi stops her from earning them more stares in the restaurant.

"I'm sorry, Kelsi. I'm so, so sorry. I would never ask you to stay on good terms with a man like that, no matter what he's paying for. How much longer can we stay at the studio?"

"Two months if we're lucky…maybe."

"Maybe I can take out a loan. I have a paying job at the firm now so maybe the bank will reconsider."

"Gabi, I can't let you go into debt for the both of us. That's not fair."

"What else can we do? We can't lose the studio."

"Well, there is someone I have in mind. He's a fan of your work especially," Kelsi hints. "He actually spent an absurdly large sum of money on your piece not too long ago."

"Absolutely not. I will not ask Troy to sponsor us."

"Why not? He obviously would judging by that massive donation."

"I am not going to take advantage of his interest in me by asking him to sponsor us."

"That's not taking advantage of anybody! It'd be his choice. Just ask."

"No," Gabriella says decidedly.

"Gabriella, if you don't ask him, I won't have any other choice but to stick with Rick."

"If you want to stay partners with someone who makes unwanted sexual advances towards you, that's on you. I never asked you to do that for us. I am fine with losing the studio to get away from Rick."

"Lose the studio? I couldn't do that. You need to ask Troy."

"I don't need to ask Troy for anything."

"Gabi, let me explain something to you. This whole industry is based off of who you know. I was on good terms with Rick and it gave us a start, now we need your connection with Troy to keep us moving."

"Kelsi, let me explain something to  _you_  now," Gabriella says, her eyes darkening by the second. "I will never risk doing anything that could potentially jeopardize what I have with Troy. I consider asking him to sponsor us to be one of those things. Understood?"

"Well unless you think of something else, that's all we can do."

"We're going to ask every other benefactor we know. If we can't find anyone, I will try for a loan. There's no way in hell I'd ever ask Troy for something as big as that."


	18. Godsend: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning**: Domestic abuse.

_3¼ years ago._

Her pinkish, swollen body made the fabric of her long tights taut against her ballooning legs. The pastel yellow satin of the maternity dress gracefully cascaded like water over her massive belly before ending just below her knees. The woman pulled at her unruly white cardigan to replace it over her enlarged chest again. Hanging from its thin chain around her long neck rested a delicate pure gold cross atop her bust.

The frumpy priest stretched his vestment-draped short arm out to bless the restless congregation. Then with just a few more lines from his holy book, he officially dismissed the church service. The small children's choir began signing their ending hymn while the tiny, white-haired pianist masterfully scattered her quick fingers about the keys. The exciting sounds filled the entire church all the way from the crucifix behind the altar to those seated high up in the balcony. Many chose to sing along merrily, while others caught up with their surrounding Christian friends. After one dramatic crescendo as a finale, the children smiled proudly in their long choir robes as the proud congregation applauded.

Once the children disappeared into the back, the old pianist hunched over her instrument and continued on with another joyous song. The people herded themselves into the aisle between pews and bottle necked at the massive doors. Positioned in a wide stance, the pregnant woman offered bulletins to the exiting patrons.

"I know that isn't Lindsey Bolton I see on her feet at nine months pregnant!" A friendly brunette woman said to the woman in awe.

"Mary! How are you, darling?" Lindsey asked while awkwardly wrapping an arm around her friend despite the massive baby bump between them.

"I'm great! But gosh, your feet must be killing you standing on this stone! Where's that husband of yours? Shouldn't he be passing out bulletins instead of you? I haven't seen him in a few weeks now. He can't be sick again! Oh, God forbid."

"Mary, you're so caring," Lindsey praised the woman before explaining, "Fortunately he's perfectly healthy. He's just been difficult to get to church lately. I think it's all the stress with the baby on the way."

"God helps those who ask. It's a shame a married and pregnant woman must attend church alone."

"There you are, Mary!" A man approached the women, placing a peck on Mary's cheek before holding her tight into his side. "Good morning, Lindsey! Geesh, look at you!" The man exclaimed with wide eyes while motioning his hands to her large baby bump.

"Anthony!" His wife berated him, "You don't talk to a pregnant woman like that!"

"It's alright, Mary." Lindsey delicately draped a limp hand over her belly, "I think this precious bump is far too large to ignore anymore." She smiled sweetly down at her bump and said, "We're due in less than a week."

"Get out!" Anthony exclaimed, "That's magnificent! Ours prayers will be with you and your family. Hey, is Troy somewhere around here?"

" _No_ ," Mary scoffed, "He's home. Hasn't been to church in weeks, the commandment breaker!"

"Mary!" Anthony frowned, "You're speaking ill of a fellow Christian just outside a place of worship."

"What is wrong with me?" Mary exasperatedly asked to nobody in particular. She smacked herself on the forehead in anger before throwing her head back to below to the ceiling above, "Oh Lord, forgive me! I shall love my neighbor, never mind his flaws!"

"The Lord is forgiving, dear." Anthony consoled, stroking her shoulders with his thumbs, "He knows your kind heart even better than I do."

"Oh, Anthony," Mary swooned, wrapping her arms around his waist and whispering into his neck, "God's best blessing was putting you in my life."

"Sweetheart..." Anthony blushed. He placed the tips of his fingers beneath Mary's pointed chin before placing a kiss on her perked lips. The two stayed in their embrace, staring into each others' eyes lovingly as the lone Lindsey watched on.

"Anyways, Lindsey," Anthony spoke, "It's a shame Troy couldn't make it today. Father Marshall had an excellent homily that I think he would have enjoyed. Our prayers will be with you and your family."

"Thank you," Lindsey smiled.

Still held into Charles' side, Mary kindly rubbed Lindsey's arm in farewell.

Lindsey continued handing out bulletins with a practiced, preppy smile until her stack ultimately dwindled down to zero. She found her purse and sun hat in a coat closet and made her way back to the greeting area to leave. But blocking the exit stood a pack of women appearing to be remnants of ideal 50s housewives. They wore simple dresses of bland colors paired with humble accessories. Shades of brunette, blonde, and red hair was neatly pulled into high buns or barely tickling their earlobes in length. Their heads slowly pivoted atop their long, slender necks towards Lindsey. They greeted her by exposing their uniformly straight, white teeth in cheery smiles.

"Good morning, Lindsey!" One woman chirped, approaching her with the group trailing closely behind.

"Good morning, Georgia!" Georgia Candie. The current greatest and strongest threat against Lindsey's social monopoly. Georgia had grown up in the front pew at her granddaddy's sermons and consequently been involved in nearly every church function since. By time she reached her early twenties, her popular reputation amongst the local parishes made her the most desired Southern Belle in the state of Louisiana. Yet slowly the Gatsbyesque debutant balls lost their initial glamour. She thirsted for something no amount of sweet tea could quench. Georgia heard a divine calling to Christian film and television. She daringly abandoned her thrown atop her family's massive Louisianan estate and resettled in Los Angeles, the city of the lost angels and naïve girls looking to make it big.

She prioritized a good parish above anything else when she moved, and Lindsey's was the best. She read the gospel at mass with a dreamy Southern tang sweeter than all the sugar cane her family's plantation could harvest. That coupled with her homemade cherry pie and the congregation quickly fell in love. Only her involvement in Ladies' Guild, volunteer work, and perfect bible study attendance felt nothing short of an invasion into Lindsey's territory. Georgia could feed as many homeless people and assist in as many school supplies drives as she wanted, but Lindsey new better. She could see a side in Georgia more ferocious than an alligator...and one that wanted to make Lindsey's parish her swamp.

"We in the Ladies' Guild wanted to surprise you with a small gift to show our appreciation for all you do for this wonderful community." Georgia dangled a small gift bag from her manicured fingers in offering.

"Oh, ladies!" Lindsey gasped, "You didn't have to get me anything!"

"Oh, we know," Mary piped up. "We  _wanted_  to, Lindsey."

Lindsey pulled the thin decorative paper from the bag and bundled it into her hand. She then reached in and pulled out a pair of tiny socks and white baby shoes. "These are too adorable!" She gleamed at the women. "Thank you, ladies!"

"Of course," Georgia said. "And Lindsey," Georgia placed her hand on Lindsey's arm to discretely guide her a little away from the group, "I want you to relax and spend some quality time with your precious gift from God in the next few weeks. Don't worry about your duties. I'll have it covered."

"I'm not worried one bit," Lindsey smiled confidently. "I know Mary will do well in my place."

"Well, Lindsey, I thought I should tell you that Mary won't be leading any Ladies' Guide meetings in your place, I will."

Lindsey's smile stiffened and her eyelid twitched in irritation while she absorbed the meaning in her words. "Georgia," Lindsey scoffed, "I've guided Mary the last few months in anticipation for my absence and you simply haven't had that kind of preparation. She's my co-leader and, frankly, has been in the parish much longer. I'm sorry, but it would be unfair to Mary for you to be the one to take my place."

Mary timidly joined the duo, "Lindsey, I asked Georgia to take the lead for me. Honestly, the thought of being in charge and doing everything you do here really intimidates me. I really don't think I'd do well, so I asked Georgia to because she, well, she's a more natural leader than I could be. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I thought you'd be disappointed maybe? I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Mary," Lindsey wrapped an arm around the woman, "I'm glad you're putting the wellbeing of the parish first above your pride. I understand and admire your selfless actions."

"Thank you! You're a model Christian woman, Lindsey." Mary said before Lindsey released her to rejoin the others.

"While I don't agree with this," Lindsey spoke lowly while fighting the urge to grit her teeth, "I think it's wonderful that you're volunteering for a position Mary somehow convinced herself she couldn't handle."

"I appreciate your blessing," Georgia said.

"Thank you," Lindsey said before waving to the others. "Goodbye, ladies!"

"We'll be praying for you delivery."

 _Bitch,_ Lindsey thought.

...

Lindsey frowned from behind her massive sunglasses with her hands clenched to her sides in the back seat. Once the driver took his first turn, the gift sitting next to her toppled over onto its side. She glared down at the object in disgust as her lips straightened into a dash of disapproval. Lindsey knew that the gift was a highly calculated move on Georgia's part to show off her "kindness" and "appreciation" in front of the other women. She was certain of its insincerity and small part in Georgia's grand ploy to takeover Lindsey's social domination in the parish. She only wished her followers were smart enough to see through Georgia's tactics, too. But Lindsey only knew all of this because she was the first to do it.

Perhaps Lindsey's awful ways was no fault of her own, but rather the product of her circumstances growing up. She was not deprived whatsoever nor face any adversity that could possibly account for her attitudes and beliefs. Rather, it was the lack of absence that molded Lindsey's despicable character the most.

Lindsey received everything she screamed for from birth. Since her and her twin Charlie could crawl, she hogged and hoarded their plentiful Fisher Price toys in her oversized pink toy chest. Her submissive parents never enforced sharing, compromise, or even the simple "no". They made certain she lacked nothing that could cause another temper tantrum. The master bedroom, puppies, convertibles, parties, clothes, tiaras, and anything else she dreamed of was hers. They even bribed the high school to make her lead in every drama production although she solemnly memorized all her lines and terribly overacted.

Learning that bullying her parents was effective, she took similar measures with her peers. It started with fear. She constantly picked on vulnerable students, stalking them between periods in the hallways. She mocked and humiliated them in front of others to deter anybody else from crossing her. She soon raised a posse of nobodies into her ranks using an allowance of flashy gifts and popular status.

East High easily became her kingdom and she even grew bored of her alpha status from time to time. She liked a challenge and junior year, she got one. A student from some prestigious New England boarding school (or so the rumors said) shook her empire at its foundation. He was threateningly gorgeous and equally charming. His sweet nature and favorability amongst the population made him too likable to tear down publicly. So she brought this enemy closer than anyone else. She made Troy Bolton her first boyfriend. He was resistant at first, of course; but Lindsey was more stubborn and resilient than he and eventually got her way as always.

Somehow this notorious Lindsey Bennett would then climb the ranks in a Christian community and today be deemed a "model Christian woman". Hath hell frozeneth o'er? It was in college that Lindsey's overtly manipulative ways weren't working for her anymore. These people weren't afraid of a former high school bully. They rolled their eyes at her oversized handbags and ignored her sass. Mean and spoiled was  _out_ ; nice and humble was  _in_. So Lindsey decided to turn her strategy on its head. She would become the most lovable person on campus.

She started by faking excitement and support when others told her about their endeavors, even though she had no genuine interest in their boring lives whatsoever. Nevertheless, she had to have been pretty convincing because if anyone was bummed out, she was the recommended listening ear. This humble, relatable persona could always show others the light in any situation, which she enjoyed since changing their mood affirmed her impact on them. Seeing others happy didn't make her feel good, but it did make her feel good about herself, which was the only way she felt happiness anyways.

While constantly faking kindness was more work, seeing people love and admire her again was worth it. Soon enough, she had a established a new circle and powerful reputation for herself.

Yet in private quarters, Lindsey could easily revert back to her old high school ways. The mask was already drooping from her face as she left the church this morning. Now as the driver opened her door in front of her massive home, the brat was closer to the surface than ever. She placed her supportive white sneakers on the tile entryway and slowly stood to her feet. The driver shut the door behind her and held onto her forearm dare she stumble on the stairs. To this, she barked, "I can make my way up a flight of stairs! I'm just pregnant, not freaking disabled!"

Through the massive doors and underneath the grand staircase, she took the most direct route to the kitchen. She dangled the gift bag far out in front of her as though it carried a disease while she headed towards the trashcan. Lifting the lid, she dropped the bag in to join the discarded leftovers and old banana peels below.

"What was that?" A man asked. She turned in surprise to find her husband, unaware he had been watching and was now looking at the closed lid of the trash can.

"Trash," She answered simply.

"Looked like a gift," Troy said.

"It was trash," Lindsey said sternly. She crossed around the backside of the island opposite him to the sink for a glass of water. She had just touched the glass to her lips when she heard the lid of the trash can drop again. She looked over at the sound to find her husband investigating the small gift bag. "Why are you going through the trash?" The enraged redhead yelled, stomping back towards him and reaching out for the gift to snatch it back.

Troy briskly turned his back to her and pulled out the small shoes and socks. "This isn't trash," He stated.

"We already have too many pairs of shoes for her and these ones aren't that nice anyways!" She argued, crossing around him to be face to face with him.

"It's from the Ladies' Guild," He noted from the small tag still tied to the handles of the bag.

At this, Lindsey's patience had run out and she roughly slapped the gift out of Troy's hands to the floor below. Troy stared at his wife darkly, saying nothing. She opened her mouth to speak, but noted the dark look in his eyes and thought better.

Troy bended over to pick up the bag, paper, socks, and shoes. Staring at Lindsey with the bag and paper bundled in one fist, he opened the trashcan by its foot pedal and put the actual trash in it. He then left the room with the shoes and socks without another word.

...

"Geez Louise, Tonya! You think you made it big enough?" The grey haired man exclaimed, glancing up from his bulky laptop to his wife across the table.

"You think he'll like it?" She held up the nearly finished hand-knitted sweater, the oversized garment easily hiding her small frame behind it.

"I don't see a reason why he shouldn't. It's perfect, sweetheart!"

"Oh, it's not  _perfect_." Tonya shied, bringing her knitting needles back into the unfinished sleeve of the sweater.

"You bet your supply closet of yarn at home it  _is_."

Regardless of their failed parenting, Lindsey's parents were nice people. Genuinely nice, not Lindsey's Oscar-worthy brand of make pretend nice. Mr. William Bennett was an American Dream embodied. He and his six siblings were adopted into a poor farm family who valued a hard day's work of manual labor. This work ethic served as a sturdy foundation upon which he grew his own construction business into the success it is today.

Mrs. Tonya Bennett was born to an upper class family on the East coast. Her parents believed in protecting their generations of wealth above anything else, including love. Therefore, they very vocally disapproved of William, but Tonya couldn't help her love for the dirty farm boy. She faced disownment when she wed him in a small court room after only four months of dating. Luckily her parents were bluffing, and they certainly ate their words once William's business got him a seven-digit income. That was nearly thirty years ago, and his business has only been on the rise ever since.

It was their experience with a painful absence in their lives that made them afraid to deny their precious Lindsey anything she desired. But perhaps the years of Ramen dinners in the early years of their marriage made today's caviar taste so delicious. Perhaps her parents' misunderstanding of true love made William's all the more sweet. Their protection, while good intentioned, was fatally flawed. For in Lindsey's lack of absence, she is cruelly deprived of the true joys found in appreciation.

"We're beginning our descent," the co-pilot announced from the cockpit to their sole two passengers.

"Thank you," William yelled back. He closed the lid of his laptop and carefully slid it into its thick, protective sleeve. He reclined his chair back and folded his wrinkled hands together on his lap. He began shutting his eyelids until all he could see was the blurry image of his wife's hands laboring over the knitting project in between them.

...

Lindsey brushed off her first encounter with her husband that morning with a bathroom break since her weakened bladder could always use some relief. She gussied up in the mirror with a fresh layer of lip-gloss and pinned a lock of fallen red hair back into its bun on her crown. Pausing in front of the mirror momentarily, she stared back into her own brown eyes. She decided she looked tired and made her next plan of action be to go to bed for an early nap.

She closed the door behind her and stepped into the hallway as Troy was approaching her position to enter the bathroom. "Troy," She said, "We should have a chat about something before my parents land."

"If we're really just chatting," Troy began, forgetting his initial destination and exiting down the hallway, "there's no reason why we can't do that during lunch while they're present."

"It's a chat that should be done privately between husband and wife!" Lindsey yelled after him, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

"Then that's not just a chat anymore, is it?"

"God dammit, Troy!" Lindsey stomped her feet together on the stone floor. "I know you're not making me chase after you at nine months pregnant!"

He stopped, hesitating in indecision for a moment before turning around and approaching her again. "What?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall standoffishly.

"You haven't been to church in nearly a month."

 _This again,_  Troy rolled his eyes. "I don't want to go to church. I don't know how many times I need to tell you this. It's simply not what I want and you need to respect that, okay? My wants are not up for debate."

"Troy," Lindsey sighed, "It's not about what you want."

"It's not?" He challenged her.

"No, it's not. It's about how this all looks."

He raised an eyebrow, "How it looks to God or to your church friends?"

"What? Troy!" She backpedaled, "C'mon, I didn't mean it like that!"

"That's exactly what you said."

"I meant it's about getting saved!"

"Please, Lindsey. I know you don't have any religious interest with either of our attendance in that church whatsoever."

"Well," Lindsey uncomfortably laughed, "That's simply untrue."

" _Riiight._ " Troy smirked, "Keep telling yourself that, angel."

Before Lindsey could form a defense, the sound of her father's booming "Hello!" announced his and Tonya's entrance into their house. The two tiredly looked at each other, both aware that this "chat" would have to be pushed back into the late evening. Lindsey led Troy to the foyer as he distanced himself behind her, replacing her mask along the way.

 


	19. Godsend: Part Two

_3¼ years ago._

Tonya anxiously shifted her weight from side to side while twiddling with the fabric between her fingers. As much as she knew she shouldn't expect anything, she admitted she wanted them to love her present. It had been a grueling process with the stubborn yarn and her own clumsy hands. Yet she persevered through the long undertaking and now stood in their home with two hand knitted sweaters for the expecting couple.

"Geepers creepers, Tonya, what on Earth could be taking them so long?" William asked, nosily glancing inside the house from the foyer.

"I'm up here, Daddy!" Her cheerful voice announced Lindsey's presence on the second floor balcony overlooking the foyer.

"Princess!" William exclaimed with eyes wide in joyous surprise at the size of Lindsey, "Honey, you're glowing!" He approached the bottom of the staircase and offered, "Let me help you down, darling. I don't want you tumbling."

"Oh, Dad," she waved off his offer with a flick of her wrist, "Don't be silly." She hovered her foot over the first stair when a large hand touched her shoulder from behind.

"Let him help," Troy quietly said to Lindsey, "He's concerned."

Before Lindsey could quip a response, William was already racing up to join the duo, yelling, "Troy!" excitedly.

Troy's body was suddenly jerked forward by William's strong arms and wrapped into a rough, yet loving hug. "Troy!" He yelled again, "You're nearly a father!" He hastily congratulated Troy as though the realization had been delayed until now.

"Well, I suppose meeting up here is just as well." Tonya said, more calmly and gracefully ascending the staircase than her husband to join the rest of the family.

"I sure hope we weren't interrupting anything," William said. "It took awhile for you both to hear us."

"Oh, we were just napping." Lindsey said.

"Napping!" Tonya laughed.

"Geesh Troy, can't give our daughter a break?" William joked, "She's already pregnant, you know!"

Troy forced a small smirk onto his lips and made his voice add a weak, "ha," to the others' honest laughter.

"I was going to wait until after lunch, but I feel like I'll just explode if I wait any longer!" Tonya blurted.

"Wait for what?" Lindsey asked.

"I made these for you!" Tonya said, quickly handing one off to William. Tonya unfolded the pink sweater in her hands to expose a  _MoMMy_  bedazzled on the front of it. William's much larger, blue one had  _DAdDy_  sloppily stitched onto the fabric in yellow yarn.

Troy's face brightened at the sight of the gift. He immediately exclaimed, "Wow, I love it!" He took the sweater from William to admire the  _DAdDy_  closer. "Thank you!" He remembered, hugging Tonya and kissing her cheek in gratitude.

"Lindsey? Do you like yours, honey?" Tonya timidly asked.

"Yeah, mom," Lindsey hesitantly nodded. "I do." She grabbed onto the bottom of the garment and pulled it towards her to judge the front better, a little snarl in her upper lip evident of her distaste.

"I thought you'd want the jewels." Tonya added.

"You were right." Lindsey smiled weakly, taking the sweater from her father and folding it over her forearms. "I'm sorry, I don't feel so well. Could I grab a snack?"

"Of course, honey." William said, quickly following behind Lindsey on her way down the stairs.

Alone with Tonya on the balcony, Troy quietly voiced his words of consolation, "She's not good at, you know, expressing gratitude sometimes. She just doesn't understand the value in the homemade touch. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Troy. You don't have to apologize for Lindsey."

"But I  _am_  sorry, Tonya." He glanced to the bottom of the staircase where William and Lindsey had just arrived. The protective father watched their steps ahead attentively with both hands guiding Lindsey by her arm. The visibly irritated blonde was glaring at him out of the corner of her eyes with hateful scorn. Her dark eyes glanced up to lock onto Troy's briefly before the two disappeared beneath the balcony. "It's not fair," he continued about his wife. "Your daughter shouldn't treat you like that and I'm sorry I can't help that. You deserve better."

"Well, she did bring a wonderful son-in-law into my life, so she can't be all that bad, can she?" Tonya said with a wink.

Troy smiled sadly in response, unable to conceive of himself as the silver lining in the gloomy world that Lindsey unrelentingly overcasts.

"C'mon, Troy," Tonya said, wrapping her hand around his arm. "Let's just get some lunch."

Tonya kept her hand on Troy's arm for stability as they traveled down the stairs. She constricted her long fingers over his arm at random and commented, "Are you still lifting, Troy? I don't think you've ever lost your athletic high school figure. It's impressive! What do you do to stay fit?"

"Basketball," he said.

"Ahh, I should have guessed!" Tonya said, "You're the former Wildcats' captain! Leading the Wildcats to state victory since junior year, of course you'd continue strengthening your God-given talent."

The two finally traversed enough white marble tiles to find themselves entering beneath a crown molding-bordered arch into the main dining room. The massive bay windows on the opposite side of the long room allowed an abundance of light to pour in from the rising California sun. Thin drapes obscured the view of the city below, but they casted shadows of flowers and birds from their intricate pattern about the interior. Dividing the room in two stood a glass table supported by flared golden legs and matching refurbished Victorian chairs.

Situated at the head of the table was Lindsey. She acknowledged their entrance snippily, saying, "How nice of you to show my mother to the dining room, Troy."

William shot Troy and Tonya an anxious smile as he reentered from the kitchen doors wielding two plates of sandwiches. He placed one on the table in front of Lindsey and pecked her blonde head as he bent. Taking a seat next to his daughter, he quickly whipped his napkin down over his lap to begin feasting.

Lindsey frowned down at the bland sandwich on her plate and eventually pushed the whole plate forward in rejection. "I'm on a no carb diet,  _Dad_ ," She scoffed. "I've been on one since high school."

"Well I'm not." Troy piped up, approaching the ticking time bomb and reaching over the table to steal the plate away for himself. She simply stared at her husband incredulously as he took his place seats away from her.

Just in time before Lindsey looked sure to snap, Tonya offered, "I can make you something, honey." She scurried to her feet and headed into the kitchen, yelling behind her, "I remember your favorite salad recipe!"

"Troy," William started conversation. "How's the family business?"

"It's good!" Troy answered. "We have incoming projects pretty often."

"Is that so? You and your old man can still drag in the big fish?"

"It's not just us. It's a company-wide effort at the firm. We wouldn't be anywhere without the Danforth's and the others."

"Always the humble one, Troy," William praised. "Your dad raised you well."

Perhaps it was her low-blood sugar this afternoon, but Lindsey felt a murderous rage building stronger with each word exchanged between the two. She absolutely hated Troy these days. Her envy stemmed from how effortlessly he had her parents love and admire him. Her own parents preferred him to her and she knew it. She chose to keep her mouth busy with a kale and carrot salad as her mom, dad, and Troy merrily chatted away.

"Well, I think that hit the spot!" Tonya said, standing to gather the dirty plates. "If it's alright with you both, William and I were talking about heading out to the country club for a couple rounds of golf today. I'm sure you'd like to rest, Lindsey, but Troy is more than welcome to join us!"

"That sounds great!" Troy excitedly agreed, smiling at the thought of being out on the course again.

"Well, shouldn't you be home to help me?" Lindsey argued.

"What would you need help with?" Troy asked, a sting of bitterness evident in his tone at Lindsey's excuse to control him.

While the younger couple entered a wordless standoff, Tonya and William looked at each other uneasily before Tonya said, "Troy...sometimes pregnant woman just need to...nest. You know, make sure the home and everyone in it are ready for the approaching big day! Right, William?"

"Right!" William said. "I remember you...netting?"

"Nesting," Tonya reminded him.

"Nesting!" William clapped his hands, "Troy, son, you won't understand it until you've had kids. We're sorry, but we'll have to go golfing another visit. Tonya..." He jerked his head towards the door as Tonya grabbed her cardigan from the back of her chair and quickly left the tense air behind them.

Troy lifted the heavy stack of plates Tonya had gathered and rushed them to the kitchen. Setting them down roughly on the granite counter top with a clank, he forced the plug into the drain and aggressively hit on the faucet. He watched as the water flowed into the sink with his hands braced on either side, subtly shaking his head in irritation. He heard one of the kitchen doors open from the dining room and looked over his shoulder at the noise.

Lindsey slowly entered the room and with a smug smirk on her lips, she said, "We have maids to do that, you know."

"I like keeping my hands busy." He said, quickly turning back around to his task and not catching what she was carrying in her hands.

Lindsey began making her way towards him from the doors, the two sweaters rolled up into one tight ball in her hands. She was distracted from her initial plan at the sound of dishes and silverware clanking together. "Don't chip any of my great grandfather's priceless China! They're worth a fortune!" She warned him.

Ignoring her request, Troy submerged another plate into the water and began scrubbing imaginary food particles.

"Not to mention the  _sentimental_  value, Troy." Lindsey said.

"Like you know shit about sentiment." Troy murmured angrily beneath the sound of the splashing water.

"I meant to my family, of course." Lindsey said, cautiously raising the trash's lid by its foot pedal and placing the ball of sweaters in the can.

Troy unexpectedly turned off the faucet and heard the unmistakable sound of a plastic trash bag ruffling in the silence. He turned around just in time to catch a startled Lindsey flicking a fallen pink sleeve over into the can. "What the hell, Lindsey?" He barked, his voice louder and more ferocious than he had ever heard himself before. "If your mom saw those in there it'd break her heart!"

"Then we'll blame it on the maid mistaking it for trash! God knows it looks close enough already."

"You're a monster." Troy spat. He rescued the sweaters from their smelly demise and placed them safely next to the sink in his line of sight. He took his very warranted anger and with it, scrubbed the sparkling dishes a second time. He scratched his fingertips into nonexistent stains on the plates and worked on them until he felt a painful hit to the back of his head. He heard the chimes of small shards of porcelain sprinkling to the floor and ricocheting off the cabinets all around him. He instinctively brought his hand up to the back of his head to feel even finer pieces of broken plate imbedded in his hair.

Utterly shocked, he turned around to face the monster. Although her voice was at its absolute loudest, he couldn't comprehend a single word of it. Her face was so contorted with anger, she appeared possessed by the devil. The veins in her face and neck throbbed beneath her reddened skin, becoming more evident as she stomped towards him threateningly. He retreated until he was on his heels, nearly bending backwards into the sink.

In front of him he saw a woman who was supposed to be his pregnant wife, but also an attacker screaming obscenities at him at the top of her lungs. It was so preposterous, he completely rejected the unbelievable notion. This monster wasn't his wife. That massive bump bulging from her body wasn't his baby. He had been dropped into a reality he doesn't recognize, and one that he certainly doesn't want to live.

...

"This is one of my hottest fantasies," He said unprompted. "I hope you realize that you're entering very arousing territory here." His breath was hot against his lover's hairline where their heights placed him.

A snort sounded out of the other man. "What on Earth could you be talking about?" Chad laughed.

"C'mon!" Ryan responded. "Locker room make out session? The gay porno write itself."

"Ryan," Chad put his hand over his face to cover his blushing. "I think smelly gym locker room sex  _only_ exists in porn, as it should be."

"You're no fun," Ryan said, stepping over the bench separating the lockers towards his on the other side. "So I'm just supposed to see you undress, but miraculously keep my hands off of you?" He asked.

"While I think you're really exaggerating the temptation of my physique," Chad began, "my word of advice would be to turn around."

"I did my years of that in high school!" Ryan pouted, melodramatically turning around with a stomp and beginning to unbutton his shirt. "Oh, and I wasn't exaggerating," he added. "Your body is very alluring."

"You keep flattering me so much you might have to put your mouth where your sweet talk is after all." Chad slowly turned his head to glance over his shoulder at Ryan, who already had a large smirk spanning from ear to ear.

The two quickly went back to facing their own lockers once they heard someone entering the locker room. Chad saw a figure approaching them from the far end of the row of lockers and snuck a glance at the person, "Troy?" He recognized the man.

"Troy?" Ryan questioned. "Aren't your in-laws in town?"

"Um," Troy mumbled, dropping his gym bag on the bench and rubbing the back of his neck. He took a seat next to the bag and began unlacing his shoes, forgetting their question.

"Well?" Ryan reminded him.

"Dude, there's something on the back of your head," Chad observed. He failed to realize it to be a clump of Troy's hair matted together by dried blood.

"Oh," Troy quickly stood to his feet and faced them. He nervously diverted his eyes from connecting with theirs. He let out an exhale in thought, then suddenly said, "Excuse me." He used his hand to cover the injury before backtracking to find the showers.

"Is he...?" Chad trailed off, unsure of what to think of Troy's bizarre behavior.

"Baby stress?" Ryan hypothesized.

"Baby stress," Chad confirmed, nodding.

While Ryan and Chad got dressed by the locker, Troy had stripped off all of his clothes and piled them onto the ledge jutting out from the tile wall. He entered the shower and pulled the curtain back in place behind him and started the water. He closed his eyes and bowed his head to the shower head, allowing the water to cleanse the wound and run off from his face. He opened his eyes against the water dripping from them to follow the bright red streams coiling around the drain. Once the crimson liquid stopped washing off, he carefully guided his hair back in place over the crown of his head and stopped the water.

"Hey!" A voice Troy recognized as Chad's called into the showers.

"Yeah?" Troy answered.

"We're gonna go warm up! Catch you on the track soon?"

"Yeah! I'll be right out!"

...

"I don't know, man," Chad huffed, his arms pumping at his sides while his sneakers quickly patted against the running track. "My parents just want..." he paused to pant, "Normalcy."

"Do you want to slow down?" Ryan offered, conscious that Chad struggled to keep up with the rhythm of his comparably effortless strides.

"I like the pace we're going."

"You sure? You're not keeping good form."

Chad furrowed his sweat-covered brow in confusion, "What are we talking about?" He shot Ryan a sideways glance.

"Our warm up," Ryan answered. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh," Chad allowed his forearms to flop down by his sides as he suddenly slowed his pace, "I was talking about  _us_." Chad panted, putting his clammy hands on his knees to support his aching body.

"No," Ryan chuckled, "but it's good to know you like our  _other_ pace."

Chad glanced up at Ryan, appreciating the beauty in the minuscule beads of sweat subtly misting his face.

"I do, too." Ryan piped up, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

A smirk immediately flashed on Chad's face, but just as quickly died once a figure jogged past them, ordering, "Let's go, slackers!"

"Slackers?" Ryan yelled back at Troy, catching up with the former basketball captain in milliseconds, "Now which one of us has missed the last four pickup games? Someone, please remind me!"

"Hmm," Chad interjected, joining them on the other side of Troy, "Certainly wasn't Ryan or I!"

"Gentlemen! Have I ever been one to miss practice?" Troy said, running up to the rack of spare basketballs and grabbing one. He lined up his shot and gave it a little jump as he tossed the ball into the hoop with a swish. "Or a shot, for that matter?"

Ryan and Chad raced onto the court to get to the ball first. Ryan rescued it from the ground, but had to block Chad's attempts at recapturing it.

"Pass!" Troy yelled, running across the court.

Ryan spotted him and bounced the ball to Troy, who took a shot that hit off the backboard and into the basket. The ball did one bounce off the floor, but was quickly picked up by an interfering man before gravity could have its way again.

"Sorry I'm late!" Jason called out, dribbling the ball across the court to the other side as the other guys ran with him. He took a shot that bounced off the rim and headed directly back towards his waiting hands, when Ryan disrupted the ball's journey and swatted it across to the other side of the hoop.

Chad and Troy broke out into a sprint towards the object. Troy made it there first, but Chad was right on him, blocking him from passing it off to Zeke, who already had Jason blocking him. Troy faked a pass that sent Chad to the side, then aimed and hurled the ball across the entire length of the basketball court towards their basket.

_Swish._

All four roared and jumped about in celebration of the incredible full-court shot.

The rest of their game went about less eventfully than its start, but quenched the boys' basketball thirst for the day. The four, whose damp clothing clung to their bodies from much perspiration, made their way back to the locker room to shower. Everything was as usual until the towel-clad men heard ringtones and phones vibrating against the metal confines of their closed lockers.

"Jesus, someone's popular!" Jason joked, then quickly stopped and said regretfully, "Oh wait, maybe something's wrong. I mean, the only person who we all know that could be in the hospital is Lind-," but the moment he realized all the others were glaring at him, he shut up.

"Troy," Chad said, first retrieving his phone and handing it off to him.

Troy unlocked the device to expose his screen:

_53 missed calls_

_19 voicemalls_

_text message_

**Lindsey:**  IM IN LABOR AND WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU

"I gotta go." Troy said, abandoning his privacy by dropping his towel and dressing as quickly as he could.

...

Troy pulled into a spot on the top story of the visitor's garage just outside the maternity ward. The sun was occupying the majority of the sky and caused squiggles of heat radiation to rise from the baking metal cars. He stared at the phenomenon on the hood of the car parked next to him, effectively hypnotized and entranced.

 _bing,_  the phone resting in his passenger's seat alerted him. He swiped on the message and read:

5cm dilated, u need 2 be here NOW.

The last thing he wanted to do was support Lindsey, regardless of the situation. The birth of their child included. It was an easy decision for him to make. He rolled his windows down, turned off his car, waited for messages from to Lindsey flash onto his phone, and would watch the beautiful day pass in front of him.

He quickly caught onto Lindsey's rhythm. She'd send off many hateful messages within a few minutes, then go silent for another hour or so. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Until finally around 3:00AM, he realized he hadn't gotten a single message for nearly two hours.  _This must be it,_  he thought of the birth of his daughter that he was consciously missing. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. Interrupting his conflict, the messages began pouring in again:

_bing_

congrats troy

_bing_

u just missed ur daughters birth

_bing_

UR THE MONSTER

_bing_

oh & i no ur reading this

_bing_

ur read receipts are on u freaking idiot

_bing_

u r garbage & u will be an awful dad

_bing_

i could divorce u

_bing_

u were already an awful husband

_bing_

now youll just be a bad dad 2

_bing_

jesus if only i could hit u over the head w/ sum freakin SENSE

_bing_

u think SENSE could get thru ur think skull better than a plate?

Troy was admittedly relieved. It was fact now. He missed the birth. It had happened so now he didn't need to be stuck in the action of it all. He started his car and headed down the many levels of the garage. Out on the Los Angeles streets, he cruised about purposelessly. The entire drive was silent as he felt the plentiful imperfections in the street's pavement as it jerked his body around.

After forty minutes of driving, his voice of reason urged him to stop wasting gas and to just go home. Instead, he pulled into a gas station and parked his car. The on ramp was still in sight, but it didn't appeal to him. He didn't like the thought of driving away, nor being in that house. Home was too far away. He needed to stay near the hospital. It was more than a feeling, it was an instinct in him. Something was pulling him back to the hospital. He couldn't leave the night never having met his newborn daughter.

...

"Name?" The nurse asked.

"Troy Bolton."

"Who are you here to see?"

"Lindsey Bolton, and the baby." He didn't know her name yet, he realized.

"She's in room 419C," The nurse said, pointing back down a hallway.

"With the baby?" Troy asked.

"No, the infant is in the nursery."

"Where is that?"

"That direction," The nurse nodded towards the opposite way, "but you'll have to wait for someone to retrieve the baby if you want to hold it."

"That's fine," Troy said behind him, already rushing towards the direction she indicated for the nursery.

Troy slowed his pace once he approached the giant windows separating the hall from the small cribs inside. His name jumped out to him in the front row from a crib labeled  _Bolton, S_. He looked down into the crib from the window to see his small baby swaddled in a pink blanket and tiny hat. Her mouth was lazily drooping open as she napped, a shiny bit of dribble leading down to her chin. He could see her breathing form the movement beneath the soft fabric with every breath she let in and out. She stirred from inside the bundled blanket before a tiny, pink hand snuck up to her face. Troy studied every detail of what was in front of him from her little fingernails to the itty bitty birthmark on the left side of her face, its shape vaguely reminding him of the state of New York.

"Don't worry," a voice spoke from beside him.

He turned to see Tonya gazing at Shelly beside him.

"The 'S' is for Shelly," she continued, "I suppose you have your reasons for not being present. That's none of my business though."

"I like Shelly. It's a cute name, so it fits her." Troy glanced past Tonya and down the maternity ward, "I appreciate you dealing with what I couldn't."

"You need to remember I won't be able to do it every time, Troy. And now there's a child in the middle. You can't abandon your family." Tonya spoke, a sternness in her voice Troy hadn't heard before. "I mean it." Tonya retired from her spot and set off back down the hallway.

Troy remained in his place, watching Shelly slowly push against the tightly wound blanket until it was loosened enough to free her arms.  _She's gonna try to escape every nap time!_  He thought to himself and chuckled at the thought of her defiance. He suddenly felt the pressure behind his eyes increase and tried in vain to resist the twitching muscles along his lips. It was all for her, he then realized. The reason he ended up where he is today was in preparation for this monumental blessing. Lindsey's wrath was a test and it showed him that he needed to become stronger. He might have to endure the worst of the world for her, but he accepted that. He would give anything for Shelly; his godsend.


	20. Next Steps: Part One

_January 29th, 2016.  
Friday._

"So you liked them, right?" Troy asks the brunette clinging herself to his arm as they round the city corner en route to her apartment building.

"I think that's safe to say." Gabriella nods with a small smile on her red lips, although it's more than safe; it's obvious to her. Frankly, she wouldn't have gone to see an underground punk-rock band by the name of "The Spiders in the Shower" by herself. It being Troy's idea for their next date, she figured,  _why not?_

The change of scenery made her nervous and for a moment, she  _did_  question his idea. She felt out of place entering such a grungy venue, especially one barely larger than a garage in size. The stage lights were underwhelming and the lack of visibility disorienting. At times, she couldn't tell where the familiarity of Troy's arm ended and a near-by stranger's began. Showtime only exacerbated her discomfort. Foreign sweaty bodies bumped and nudged into each other for nearly an hour and a half as the claustrophobic crowd danced along the best they could. Gabriella decided to embrace the chaos of the new experience and in doing so, found liberation from her nerves. The songs fed the crowd energy and each fan was dancing just as ridiculously as the next. Nobody was watching. Nothing mattered. Not the beads of sweat dripping down her neck, or the occasional feet stepping on hers, nor the frizzled state of her hair. She was one hundredth of the crowd's breathing energy, as was Troy.

He had fooled her, she realized. He didn't just so happen to stumble upon the tickets as he lead her to believe. He knew the band, and evidently very well. She couldn't see him, but she could hear him above her singing along every word. She grew to love the intimacy of the venue, how it physically pushed Troy into her while exposing one of his hidden interests.

The night was nothing short of wonderful until an especially belligerent and testosterone-fueled drunkard jumped from the foot high stage into the surprised crowd below. An angry, buff security guard then stole the mic to inform everyone of the concert's premature end.

"I just wish it had lasted longer." Gabriella says, turning to face him on the stoop in front of her building door.

"Me too."

"You could have told me, you know."

His eyes scan her face unsurely before he has to ask, "What do you mean?"

"You could have told me that you're a fan of the band. That genre. It's different, but wonderful. I wish I had known that about you before tonight."

"Yeah, I guess I just wasn't sure if you'd like it." He confesses, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Then I could have taken you last week, too." Troy sadly smiles regretfully.

"Don't worry about it," She says, cupping the side of his face with her hand and stepping in to press their bodies together. "Even being there just for tonight was great," she assures him, "Especially dancing with you."

 _Kiss her,_ the voice in his head orders him. While he's frozen with indecision, she rises on her toes, tilts her head back, and starts slipping her arms behind his head.  _Oh come on, dude! Do you not see what she's doing? She's waiting!_   _Kiss her!_  the voice demands. He can see it, too; the confident curve in her closed lips, the hopeful glisten in her eyes. She's ready for their first real kiss. Lips on lips, sealed together. Just as he notices her eye lids start to come together, he bends down to hug her.  _Ugh,_  the voice in his head scoffs.

Gabriella does her best to hide her disappointment as they separate their embrace. Troy shoves one hand in his pocket while grabbing hers with his other, "Um," he starts, the embarrassment preventing him from looking directly at her, "I'll see you tomorrow night." With one small squeeze to her hand in good-bye, he leaves her.

_January 30th, 2016._

_Saturday._

Ever since her and Kelsi discussed the possibility of losing the art studio a couple weeks ago, Gabriella had added religiously checking her email to her daily routine. This morning, immediately after she shut off the alarm on her phone, she unlocks the device and refreshes her email. Three new replies have come in from their widespread spamming to ask anybody and everybody for support. Well...anybody and everybody except for Troy, of course.

Her feet clumsily stomp into the fluffy rug as she travels across the hallway to the bathroom, phone still held tightly in her grasp. She robotically brings her nightshirt up and over her head and strips her pajama pants off while her eyes remain locked on the device to speed-read the messages. She quickly discovers all three emails to be different variations of  _We'd like to help, but we can't. Best of luck!_

Feeling already defeated by the day at only 8:32am, Gabriella tosses the phone onto the the sink's rim with a heavier clank than she intended. Given the situation, a cracked screen couldn't concern her in the face of losing the art studio...neither could a delayed first kiss. Losing the studio would be like a best friend since birth dying. Therefore, other issues can't compare. Silly boy hasn't kissed her on the lips yet? A potentially damaged cell phone? _Psht!_

She sheepishly sticks a limb into the shower to test the water for warmth and once it heats up enough, she steps all the way in and is doused by the spitting showerhead. Suddenly, a bang on the door interrupts her shower as Taylor yells from the other side of the door, "Gabi! Leave some hot water for me!"

"Yes, Taylor!" Gabriella replies, rolling her eyes at Taylor's impatience.

Once Gabriella finishes her rushed shower, she wraps a towel around her body and another in her hair. The second she opens the door, Taylor's body cuts through the cloud of steam as she barges into the room, violently nudging Gabriella in the shoulder along the way. "Now I'm late!" She barks, glaring back at Gabriella accusingly while throwing Gabriella's forgotten shampoo bottles into her caddy.

"Geez,  _sorry_." Gabriella says, quickly grabbing her phone off of the sink before slamming the door shut behind her. She heads across the apartment to her room and hangs her wet towels on the hook behind the door. She opens the closet doors and scans the garments it has to offer. She needs an outfit that'll do the speaking for her, since she already knows she'll be too nervous to do that for herself. Her eyes linger on her favorite Trustworthy Teal pencil skirt. Next, she searches for a compatible top, ultimately choosing her Wealthy White blouse. She goes over to her vanity and pulls the look together with a clunky Gimme Some Gold and Responsible Ruby necklace. Before she's satisfied, she includes what is perhaps the most convincing piece of all, an Offer Me A Loan Oatmeal-colored blazer.

Her anxiety and nervousness bundle together to form a weight the size of a baseball in her stomach. So once she pulls into a spot, she confesses she can't enter the bank appearing as nervous and unsure as she feels. Before exiting, she readjusts the rearview mirror to see her own reflection. She buttons up the blazer and smooths its collar before pretending aloud, "Why yes, I  _do_  have a solid understanding of everything finance from the world economy to local business. I opened a retirement fund at four years old and have never made an irresponsible purchase in my life. You want to give me this loan. You _want_  to give me this loan. You  _want_  to give _me_ this loan!"

...

_Buzzzz, buzzzz, ding! ding! ding!_

He blindly swats at the side table to feel for his phone, his body too stubborn to reposition itself so that he could actually look. His fingertips glide across the smooth glass table until he recognizes the rubber side of his phone case. He forces his eyes open against their begs and pleads to remain closed.

 _6:30AM alarm,_ he reads,  _basketball with the guys at 10:00AM._

He hits the stop button and unlocks the device to turn off the remaining back up alarms.  _No basketball this morning,_ he decides as he allows the fatigue in his muscles coax him back to sleep.

 _Buzzzz, buzzzz_... _Buzzzz, buzzzz...Buzzzz, buzzzz...Buzzzz, buzzzz._

"Hmm?" Troy groggily moans while rescuing his arm from the tangled sheets to pick up his phone.

 _Buzzzz, buzzzz_...the device vibrates in his hands.

_Incoming Call...World's Finest Afro_

"Chad?" Troy answers the call.

"Yeah, where are you? It's ten-twenty. We're all warmed up!"

"I'm not coming."

He hears Chad's faded voice say away from the microphone, "He's  _not_  coming...yeah, I know...well...he didn't tell me either..."

"Chad?"

"Hold on, guys...Yeah Troy?"

"I'll be there next week, I promise. I just needed to sleep in today."

"You...?" Chad begins, piecing something together on his end, "Is everything okay?"

"Don't worry about it, Chad. Enjoy your game, okay?"

"I..." Chad begins, but Troy cuts him off.

"I'll see you guys on Monday." Troy ends the call. He tosses his thick phone onto the glass side table, disregarding its fragility.

...

Realizing she's been anxiously bouncing her knees as she sits in the chair, she readjusts to sit cross-legged. The complimentary coffee held tightly in her hands does nothing to calm her nerves for the fast-approaching meeting. If anything, the caffeine only antagonizes the already raising heart in her chest.

Suddenly, a dark skinned, heavy set woman approaches the waiting area and looks around the clients before calling out, "Gabriella Montez."

"Yes, hi!" Gabriella springs to her feet excitedly and rushes over the linoleum tile to meet the woman.

"Nice to meet you, Miss. Montez." The woman says, offering out a hand that Gabriella quickly and firmly shakes. "I see you've found the coffee! Is there anything else I can get for you?" The banker offers, slowly guiding Gabriella away from the waiting area and into her office.

"No thanks, I'm fine with this." Gabriella says, giggling nervously and holding up the nearly empty Styrofoam cup.

"Well, I suppose we'll just get down to business." The banker begins, unbuttoning her black business jacket and taking a seat in her swiveling chair. Letting go of a long-held breath, she runs a finger down the side of a thick file on her desk before finally crossing her hands over it. Meeting Gabriella's anxious eyes with her own, she says, "We reviewed your assets, income, and credit and cannot offer you a loan at this time."

Smiling weakly, Gabriella wills herself not to tear up, but instead says as steadily as she can force her voice, "Thank you for reconsidering my application."

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" The woman says almost consolingly.

"No, that was all," Gabriella says. "Thank you." Gabriella reenters the familiar bank foyer and heads towards the large glass doors to leave. The pressure behind her eyes swells up and the sides of her mouth pull themselves downwards in a frown. She makes her way back into her car and sits for awhile, considering the signs. Their buyers were being stingy with donations and even the bank couldn't believe in her succeeding. Was this the effect of simply not being good enough? She's not going to making; they're not going to make it.

_bing!_

She sifts through her stuffed clutch in search of the loud device, the tears in her eyes making it even more difficult to see. She finally finds her phone and reads,

 **Troy:** Im feeling a little sick. Im sorry, but i think we should reschedule our date 2nite. Wouldnt want 2 get u sick.

...

Troy, having barely convinced himself to leave his bed this morning, finds himself in the middle of the third episode in a  _Catfish: The TV Show_  marathon. Encapsulated by the show's distraction and his own resurfacing thoughts, he barely hears the second door bell ring. He twists around from his spot on the couch to eye the door suspiciously, still unsure if someone is there or if it was in his head. Suddenly, the hallway light entering from the frosted glass window next to his door is obscured by a silhouette, a silhouette with what is arguably the world's finest afro.

"Damn it." Troy curses at himself. He flings the blanket off of his lap, jumps over the back of the couch, and approaches his door. "Chad..." he begins, opening the door to find the other two with him.

"Hey, Troy!" Jason says with a wave.

"Hi, Jason," Troy says, "What are you all doing here?"

Chad and Zeke exchange a glance between themselves while Jason continues, "I don't know. It was their idea and Zeke is my ride... _Catfish_!" Jason yells, running past Troy into the apartment and dropping onto the couch with a loud thud.

"Guys..." Troy says, redirecting his attention back to Chad and Zeke.

"We wanted to check up on you." Chad admits.

"All I said was that I needed to sleep in today. You didn't need to come to my apartment to see that." Troy says, crossing his arms standoffishly and sauntering behind the island into his kitchen.

" _Right_ ," Chad says, unconvinced. He pulls out one of the barstools at the island to sit while continue saying, "It's just that, you know, you never miss a basketball game. The only times you used to were when you had problems that we'd only  _later_  discover. We just wanted to make sure that wasn't the case today."

"And now you're sure." Troy declares, leaning his weight back into the counter behind him.

"How's Gabriella?" Zeke asks, joining Chad at the island.

"She's fine," Troy murmurs.

"Is that it? Is it something with Gabriella?"

" _If_ I wanted to talk to you about her, I would bring it up."

"Fair." Chad interjects, standing to leave.

"No, it's  _not_." Zeke says, pushing Chad back into his stool by his shoulder. "Listen, Troy, I've come to learn that you've very good at deflecting and refusing to talk to us about any issues until it becomes a much bigger one. I don't like doing damage control on month-old problems suddenly surfacing when we could address them as they appear. So will you please have a conversation with us about this little Gabriella thing before it becomes a thousand little Gabriella things?"

"It's not Gabriella," Troy divulges, "There's nothing wrong with Gabriella. She's perfect and  _I'm_ the one can't handle that. Gabriella has been so patient, but I can't even take the first real step with her. I can't kiss her. It's awful. She deserves someone who can kiss her and I always think I will, but then I get there in the moment and I just...I just can't."

"It's funny to me how you could marry the devil in a blonde wig and bedazzled pink dress, but you can't kiss one of the nicest people I've met in recent history." Chad says.

"Yeah...hilarious."

"I'm not good at this," Chad shakes his head, "Zeke, you go."

"Sure, my turn." Zeke says, "Troy, we did you a great disservice all those years ago. We knew that she wasn't right for you, but we let you go ahead without warning you. We weren't doing our duty to you as friends, and I'm sorry. It was really lousy of us."

"Nobody could have anticipated what was to come of that relationship. We were all too young to know."

"Regardless, now we're old enough to know better. We know what to look out for now, don't we? We've seen the kind of girl you don't need. We know what to look out for, so believe me when I tell you that Gabriella is not dangerous. She's safe, even better, she's good. She's changing you, dude. Seriously, we've noticed a light in your eyes that wasn't there before."

 _A sacred ray_ , troy remembers with a small smile rising to his lips absentmindedly.

"Yup! That dumb smile right there!" Zeke points out with a happy laugh, "Move forward with her, whatever step you're on. Hug her. Kiss her. Love her. The only way that your history can still hurt you now is if you let it prevent you from moving forward with a new, better person."

"You guys are so right." Troy realizes, "I have to call her."

...

Gabriella forces the brush through her stubborn brunette curls before running some heat protection product through them. After sliding the searing hot straightening iron down her countless locks, she methodically applies her makeup. Crossing over to her closet, she takes out a gorgeous black dress with a zip up back. "Taylor!" She calls out, only to be unanswered. Heading out of her room, she crosses the apartment to the living room and finds Taylor binge-watching Netflix with a massive bowl of popcorn resting on her stomach.

"What?" Taylor mumbles, not glancing away from the  _Scream_  episodes on the screen.

"Can you give me a hand?" Gabriella asks, turning around and exposing her bare back to her. Sighing in annoyance, Taylor reluctantly places the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and stands to zip Gabriella's dress for her.

Turning around after secured into the piece, Gabriella says, "thanks."

"Whoa!" Taylor exclaims, her eyes large in shock.

"Too much?"

Taylor takes a long moment to scan Gabriella up and down. Suddenly, a knowing smirk rises on her face as she says, "You must  _really_ like him."

"Damn it," Gabriella pouts, "It's that obvious?"

"I guarantee you it's not for him. Guys are clueless! I can only tell because I remember the last time you wore that dress." Taylor says, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest suspiciously, "You aren't expecting a proposal this time, too, are you?"

"No, but thanks for bringing that up." Gabriella bitterly ends the conversation with that and heads back to her room for her stilettos.

"Gabi," Taylor says softly while timidly poking the door open to Gabriella's room. "I'm sorry. I seriously have no idea why I said that. And why I shoulder checked you this morning. God, I'm acting like such a bitch today and I'm really sorry."

"Well, I'm not going to say it's okay because it's not, but it's forgivable." Gabriella says with a gentle smile, standing to meet Taylor and hugging her. "I love you, Tay. Bitchy days and all."

Smiling at her show of friendly affection, Taylor tightens her embrace around Gabriella.

"Besides, I just attribute it to your period," Gabriella says, backing away from Taylor and crossing the room to her jewelry stand. "You should be on your last days now, right?"

"Should I?" Taylor asks, her brown eyes glistening with a hint of concern.

"Well, I don't know your cycle  _that_  well, that'd just be weird." Gabriella says, carefully placing gorgeous golden earrings into her piercings. "Can you help me with this necklace, too?" Gabriella asks, showing a layered, chained necklace matching the gold in her earrings.

"Sure." Taylor says, crossing the room, taking the necklace, and struggling to get the clasp together. "Got it!"

"Thanks, again." Suddenly, the loud buzzing sound erupts indicating Troy's arrival at their apartment. Gabriella quickly shuffles over to her vanity to gussy up one last time before striding across the apartment to the front door with Taylor trailing closely behind her.

Her hand grips the cool metal of the doorknob and slowly twists it to open. Behind the door stands a handsome Troy Bolton decked out in a tuxedo and bow tie. His face lights up as he smiles excitedly using a moment to take in the sight of her. The aforementioned black dress flows down to the floor, but a sexy slit in its side exposes a toned leg. Two additional horizontal slits in the dress located at the smallest part of her waist allow her olive colored skin to peek out on the sides. As opposed to the typical lusciously flowing curls of hair, her straightened locks reach down to the top of her hips in a continuous flow of glossy brunette hair. Her makeup perfectly contours and highlights her prominent cheekbones, although Troy could not truly appreciate the effort in that.

Struggling to find words, Troy blushes a fiery red before babbling on incoherently. Laughing at himself, he barely chokes out, "Wow!"

Giggling at his shock, she brushes a never-ending lock of hair behind her shoulder and wraps her arms around him in greeting, cautious to keep her face up so as not to smudge her make up against his shirt.

One hand occupied with a bundle of roses, Troy holds her in with his other and places a kiss on her cheek. "I got these for you," He says, bringing the white roses out from behind his back to present to her.

"Troy, they're beautiful!" Gabriella says almost cooingly. "Thank you!"

"I can find a vase for them." Taylor pipes up from behind Gabriella.

"Thank you, Taylor." Troy says as Gabriella hands them off to her.

"Shall we?" Troy asks, offering his arm out to Gabriella.

"We shall." Gabriella responds, taking his arm and waving goodbye to Taylor.

...

"I'm very proud to have a girl that can appreciate a good steak." Troy says appraisingly as he strokes her hand resting on top of the table.

"I'm just afraid of ordering anything else," Gabriella confesses, "it being in French and all. 'Le steak' looked like a safe bet."

"Careful though, some of those false cognates will catch you." Troy warns her.

"Trust me, I know. I can't tell you how many people have tried saying estoy embarazada to tell me they're embarrassed."

"What does it really mean?"

"I'm pregnant." Gabriella says.

"Here we are," The server places a massive plate with the smallest piece of steak in the center underneath a light drizzle of sauce. Then, moving to Troy, he places down an equally disproportionate amount of pasta in the center of an enormous plate. "Is there anything else I can do for you two?"

"I think we're okay, thank you." Troy dismisses him.

Smiling to herself, Gabriella says, "It really amuses me how these super expensive restaurants make you pay a ridiculous price for the smallest amount of food." She picks up her knife and fork and brings them down on the pathetic chunk of meat.

"Yeah, but we can't show up to a waffle house dressed up like this, can we?"

"You're right. We're paying for the atmosphere if anything." Gabriella says.

Their night goes on seamlessly through dessert until the wine finally catches up with Gabriella. "I must excuse myself to the ladies' room," Gabriella says, clutching the black dress at her side so it doesn't tear.

Gussying up in the bathroom mirror, Gabriella carefully reapplies a layer of vibrant red lipstick. The girl in the mirror should be smiling brighter. She's at one of the nicest restaurants in the country, for god's sake. Even more so, she's with Troy, a man who has brought her countless smiles and laughs. Perhaps tonight, even his delightful presence can't shake the impending future of her studio from her mind. Sighing, she squeezes the tube of lipstick back into her jam-packed clutch.

Exiting the bathroom, she nearly breezes right by Troy who was waiting so close to the door.

"Shall we?" He asks, holding out his hand.

"We shall," She smiles, taking his hand for him to unexpectedly lead her away from the front of the restaurant. "Where are we going?"

Troy abruptly stops in front of a door leading outside and smiles back at Gabriella mischievously. Without saying anything, he pushes the door open with his back and guides her out onto a porch.

She watches her footing, cautious not to let a heel pierce down through the spaces in between the planks of wood. When suddenly, she spots a single red rose petal next to her shoe. Her eyes slowly scan further ahead to expose an entire trail of petals leading to the other side porch that overlooks the ocean.

"Oh my God!" She gasps, "Did you do this?"

"Well, no." Troy admits, "I guess some guy set this all up to propose to his girlfriend earlier. I overheard some waiters talking about cleaning it up when you were in the bathroom, but I said I'd use it."

Tightening her grip on Troy's hand excitedly, now she rushes him over to the other side of the porch. The two stop once they reach the rail and Gabriella leans over to see the dark navy waves crashing into the support beams. Feeling his hand inching up to her forearm, she stands back up straight and turns to face him. She isn't given the chance to anticipate a possible kiss again, because Troy cuts the suspense and presses his lips firmly against hers without warning. She returns his eagerness as tongues request and gain entry, hands rake through each other's hair, and hearts race crazily until they both have to break for air.

 _Kiss her? Check._ The voice in his head says,  _Next step, love her._


	21. Next Steps: Part Two

_February 12th, 2016.  
Friday._

The cute gecko glares at the scared man from atop a frying pan carried by a girl whose enchanted blonde hair constrains the man to a chair. Troy chuckles at the scene on the screen and glances down at the brunette woman next to him to trace back the adorable giggles emitting from her beautiful smile. The smears of colored pencil residue still cover the side of her hand that she rests between her hip and his. Her legs are curled beneath her so that her torso must lean against his, but not uncomfortably whatsoever. In fact, she unexpectedly finds herself soothed by the sensation of his rib cage expanding against her body on his inhales. A peaceful smile plays on her lips as she considers the pattern of his breaths as a relaxing drowsiness suddenly overcomes her body. The weight of her head naturally falls back onto his shoulder next to her, and she turns her head to peck his arm momentarily before snuggling her head back to its place against his shoulder.

"I love Disney's animal side-kick characters," Troy says, struggling to fit his fingers into the narrow mouth of the gummy bear pouch. He thinks to pour the bag into his hand and then tosses a handful of the gummy candy into his mouth, "like Mulan's dragon," he mumbles, the gummy bears wrestling against his tongue, "Eddie Murphy."

"Mushu?" Gabriella clarifies.

"Whoever."

"Troy," Gabriella laughs, "You can't just say Eddie Murphy. I honestly imagined the real life actor in a cheap dragon costume."

"You know who I was talking about, though." Troy glances down to smile at her.

"Yes,  _still_." Gabriella persists with a smirk.

"Yeah, so like Mulan's Mushu, Rapunzel's Pascal and Flynn's Maximus. They're a little duo."

"So which animal would you be as my sidekick?" Gabriella asks.

"Excuse me?" Troy arches an eyebrow at her, "What makes you think  _I'm_  the animal sidekick?"

"Oh I'm sorry, did you want to be the princess?" Gabriella teases.

"The  _prince_ , thank you very much." He chuckles, ponders a thought for a moment, then says, "I think you'd make a wonderful chihuahua sidekick."

"Oh?" Gabriella blinks largely, "What about me makes you think _chihuahua_?"

"Oh, you know..." Troy smirks mischievously, evidently thinking of something to rile his girl up, "You're snippy."

"Troy!" Gabriella yells.

"Yeah! Like that!"

"Stop!" Gabriella squeaks, attempting to shove him, but only really sliding herself along the couch further away from him.

"You pick fights with dogs you can't possibly win." Troy points out. "Like now, you think you could stand up to a Rottweiler like me?"

"Rottweiler!" Gabriella exclaims in laughter.

"Keep laughing, chihuahua." Troy says, scooting up next to Gabriella again.

"Excuse me, but you're in my territory."

"I think this whole area is my territory, actually. This is my apartment."

"Well,  _alpha_ , would you mind getting the pack another creme soda?" Gabriella asks, picking up her empty bottle by its mouth and dangling it between the two of them.

"Of course, I  _am_  the hunter and provider, aren't I?" Troy takes the empty bottle from her and quickly gathers the other bottles and wrappers before disappearing back to the kitchen.

Gabriella keeps watching a conflicted Rapunzel and an impatient Flynn Rider as they adventure further and further away from her tower. Troy returns with two full glass bottles, offering one to her as he takes his seat again. Gabriella pops the top of the bottle off and takes a long swig, the crispness of the carbonation popping and crackling on her tongue as a trace of sweet vanilla creme follows.

"Oh," Troy speaks up, "I accidentally got black cherry." He begins to reach his arm out to steal her bottle and says, "Let's switch."

"I don't want black cherry," Gabriella whines, holding her soda tight against her chest to protect it.

"C'mon, switch me." Troy pleads.

"No," Gabriella argues, holding her bottle out the length of her arm away from him. Troy mistakenly holds his path and reaches out for the bottle in front of Gabriella.

The temptation becomes too great for Gabriella to ignore; His forearm is barely a lick away from her mouth. She gives in to her impulsivity and gently bites Troy's arm to deter him from reaching for her drink anymore.

Troy gasps, startled for good reason, "You bit me! God, you actually already are part Chihuahua, aren't you?"

"Would that be a deal breaker?" Gabriella asks with a pout.

"Well, yeah! I wouldn't want to worry about you  _biting_." Troy winks.

Gabriella takes another drink from her bottle and rolls her eyes at his suggestion.

"You wouldn't bite me, would you?" He asks, leaning in to close the space between them.

Feeling exposed underneath the scrutiny of his drowsy, bedroom eyes, she says against her suddenly dry throat, "Not unless you wanted me to." Her words cause a blush to rise to her cheeks and she nervously bites down on her bottom lip.

Troy tilts his head towards hers until he can connect his soft lips with hers. "Please don't," he husks before bracing his hand at the nape of her neck.

Gabriella fights with body briefly, needing to feel in control after the warmth from his proximity sets about a flurrying sensation in her heart. If just feeling the pressure of his ribcage expanding against hers with layers of clothing between them could elicit a reaction from her, she needn't underestimate the effects of an even greater intimate touch.

The real test begins as Troy retreats his lips from hers to venture out along her jawline, then down her neck. She reminds herself to stay in control as his kisses approach her notoriously sensitive patch behind and beneath her earlobe, one that reacts much like an 'ON' switch.

"We don't have to," Troy suddenly abandons his pursuit to speak face to face with her.

"What?" Gabriella questions him, "It was fine."

" _Fine,_ " Troy repeats with a knowing look.

"I just-" she begins to explain.

"You're really tense."

"I know," Gabriella admits. "I guess I'm just not as comfortable being the first one to be exposed."

"Well, I feel selfish saying this, but I could go first if you want."

"No, that's not selfish. That's brave."

"If you say so." Troy shrugs.

"Okay," Gabriella says, moving closer to kiss him with her hands gripping at the soft cotton of his shirt. Troy willingly takes his shirt off over his head and slowly leans back against the sofa for Gabriella's eyes to travel around his naked torso.

"Well..." Gabriella sighs, "I guess it's not fair to call it  _brave_  when you have a body like that."

"Oh, you mean this?" Troy says, running a hand down his tan abs, smirking as he does so. "I suppose  _confident_ could suffice."

" _Show off_ is a better term." Gabriella teases.

She crawls on top of him to continue their kissing as his muscular arms wrap around her, the touch of his bare chest and arms giving her another wave of pleasant drowsiness.

_February 13th, 2016._

_Saturday._

Troy lazily pushes his sheets away from his body until they pile beneath his feet on the bed. He swings his legs off the side of the bed and stretches his arms out as a large yawn escapes his mouth.

 _Bing!_ His phone on the bedside table erupts.  _What now?_  He asks himself, a dread setting in at the likelihood of being called into work again.

He unlocks his device and finds his Facebook app to be the cause of the alert.  _Thank God._

 **Friend Requests** : Kelsi Nielsen (1 mutual friend)

Immediately as he accepts her request, his messenger app lights up with this message:

I apologize for the unprofessional means by which I must contact you. In short, Gabriella and I are experiencing more difficulties with funding than ever before. Our finances will only keep us in the studio through March of this year. Furthermore, the sculptures and drawings are too massive and too numerous to store longterm without draining our few funds left. It is not only the production of our art at stake, but the preservation as well. I would like to ask you to strongly consider sponsoring our studio. Again, lease pardon the median through which I must discuss with you the subject matter of this message. - Kelsi Nielsen

He reads the message a second time, a frown forming on his face at the reiteration.

 _Bing!_ A text message from Gabriella comes in, reading:

Dinner 2nite?

Troy responds: Come 2 my place 7.

...

"Yes!" Gabriella exclaims, her knees bouncing up and down giddily as she grips her phone against her chest happily. "Taylor!" She yells into the apartment, diving off of her bed in completely disregard of her near-nakedness to set off towards Taylor's room.

"Taylor!" She barges into the room and finds it deserted. Only the made bed, neat bookshelves, and orderly desk in sight. "Taylor?"

"Gabi..." She hears a tired voice call out to her weakly from the other side of the hallway. She turns around to spot Taylor wielding a spatula. "What do I do every Saturday morning?" She asks her exhaustedly, dark circles beneath her usually bright eyes.

Gabriella scurries through the hallway and pops out on the opposite side in front of Taylor. "Guess what!" She says, glancing at the messages on her phone for reference, "I'm going over to Troy's place for dinner. He told me to come to his place! Isn't that so great? God, he's so fantastic! His pasta is to die for, Taylor. He's such a great cook. I didn't know that was a turn-on for me. Really, he sautés onions and peppers perfectly."

Taylor visibly shudders at the thought, her skin suddenly flushing a tone paler.

"Are you okay?" Gabriella worries.

"Um," Taylor answers, abruptly spinning back into the kitchen and pulling a trashcan out from underneath the sink.

Gabriella stands in shock, watching on as Taylor pukes into the trashcan.

"Sorry," Taylor wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, "my stomach has been weak lately."

"Yeah, but, you said the tests came back negative, right?"

"One did," Taylor admits.

"And the others?"

Taylor glares at Gabriella disapprovingly, as though that was a question she wasn't supposed to ask. "I'm taking care of it, Gabriella," she says.

_6:53pm_

Gabriella merrily strides though the fancy apartment lobby en route to the elevators. Once inside, she hits for Troy's floor on an upper level and adjusts her white, cut-off tank top. She hooks a lock of hair from her ponytail by her finger and brings it forward to absentmindedly twist and twirl on the ride up. The same smile still on her lips from the night before now rejuvenates itself at the anticipation of being reunited with Troy soon.

The elevator doors part and she takes the few steps across the rustic hardwood floors to Troy's front door. She buzzes the doorbell and hears footsteps approaching from the inside the apartment, when it slowly opens.

"Hey!" She says in a sing-song voice, peaking her head into the apartment. Only once she registers the lack of excitement on his face does she realize something might be wrong. "What's going on?"

"Well," Troy begins, putting his hands in his pockets, "Is there anything going on?"

"No." Gabriella responds, her smile faltering under the heavy tension in the air.

"There's nothing wrong?"

"Is there  _supposed_  to be something wrong?"

"You tell me."

"Troy," Gabriella laughs nervously, "I have no idea what this could be about."

"Alright," Troy says impatiently, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He quickly unlocks the device and shows her the screen.

Gabriella sheepishly takes the phone from him to examine the message closer. She feels her face flush red and a panic in her gut. "She wasn't supposed to tell you this."

"Well, were  _you_  ever going to?"

"I don't want you to sponsor us," Gabriella defends herself, her face feeling even hotter if at all possible.

"That's not the point, Gabriella!" Troy says, "Why do I have to find out through someone else about my girlfriend losing her art studio?"

"I just didn't want you to feel like you needed to sponsor us," Gabriella says, her voice soft and timid, "I didn't want to ask for money from you; I  _don't_  want to ask for money from you."

"If you don't want me to sponsor you, you'd just have to say that and I wouldn't have. It's that simple."

"I know, I told Kelsi we weren't going to ask you. I just can't believe Kelsi told you about all this!"

"I think you're really missing the point, Gabriella. It's not about the money. I'm hurt that my own girlfriend hid this massive problem from me. Why would you  _not_  want me to know about this? I mean, don't you think I could at least be emotional support for you? Do you  _want_  me to be there for you?"

"Troy, there is no correlation between the situation with my art studio and wanting your support," Gabriella says, her voice faltering underneath her uncertainty of that statement.

"I don't believe that. If you really wanted to be close with me, you would have told me everything. Nothing should be hidden between us."

"Nothing is hidden between us!"

"Obviously this was!"

"Look, Troy, keeping the issues I'm facing in my professional life from you has nothing to do with our closeness as a couple. It's not like I'm hiding anything that involves you or our relationship. I consider us to be extremely close, Troy. We  _are_  close!"

"You must have a very lenient definition of  _close_  then."

"Okay," Throws her hands up in the air, "Let's agree to disagree!" She declares. Her hands drop back to her hips with a smack, "So, what now?"

Troy shakes his head in disapproval at her attempt to sweep it all under the rug, like he could just forget about her hiding something so monumental from him, "I think you should go."

"You want me to leave now?" Gabriella says in shock.

"Yeah, and I'm not so sure about tomorrow, either."

"Wow, that's great!" Gabriella yells sarcastically, "Break up with me the night before Valentine's Day."

"I'm not breaking up with you. I just need time to think and reconsider things."

"Whatever." Gabriella rolls her eyes angrily and rushes back to the elevator.

_February 20th, 2016._

_Monday._

**Gabriella** : Soooo, r we going 2 talk about this ever, or...?

Her message to him from last Wednesday still shows as the most recent in their conversation. Even worse, the faint text beneath it saying,  _Read_.

Gabriella and Troy haven't seen each other since that fateful night last Saturday. Admittedly, that was much to Gabriella's relief. She was in a state of panic the entire day that first Monday back. She solemnly left the safe confines of her small draft studio, terrified he would pass her without the smallest acknowledgment. So all day long, she kept herself occupied in the studio with the easels surrounding her like barricades.

By that Thursday, she made a startling realization. Mr. Jack Bolton was giving her assignments and passing along drafts instead of Troy, which meant that Troy never actually needed to talk to her at work, but rather, had been  _choosing_  to the entire time. He didn't make up anymore excuses to see her, and that fact stung more than anything before.

Today, Gabriella nervously twists her body back and forth atop the rotating office chair inside her small office. She scans across the room to the untouched easel and resting beside it, a binder busting with drafts to be redone. Against her professional integrity, her work falls second in priority as she tries to imagine a situation where she wouldn't respond to a similar message. She needs to understand his silence before she can continue about her days as usual. The only situation her imagination can offer is the most dire; he's done with her. Nevertheless, wouldn't he want to break up with her sooner rather than later? She only asked to talk. What could be so scary about that? Just get it over with! She types another message.

 **Gabriella** : U can't even answer me that? Jesus Christ, Troy, let me put it like this: are we over?

Satisfied with the message, she abandons their conversation and crosses the room to her easel. She take a seat on her stool and flips the binder cover over. She holds the next project up to the light to examine the building's small intricacies closer. Unsurprisingly, she's impressed.

After starting at the architecture firm already over a month ago, one thing has become wildly clear, the firm rightfully deserves its fame. This design has proposed a seven stories-high structure in the heart of a developing Los Angeles suburb. Scaling from the bottom of the bulbous building to its top is a triangular, solar panel-covered wall that narrows and limps at its peak, much like the delicate tip of a leaf. The elegance of the design and evident concentration in its production makes Gabriella wonder how her professional drawings could persuade the clients any further. This sketch is already plenty marvelous. Out of curiosity, she flips the sketch over to read of its origins.

Creator(s): Bolton, T. & Danforth, Chad. Assistance by Team 2.

 _Troy,_  she thinks fondly. She flips the work back over to admire its details.  _He's always so precise,_  she remembers, smiling to herself at the thought of him.  _Maybe I shouldn't pressure him,_  she realizes, considering that his quietness might be another example of his concentration, only this time, it was about her. Just as she considers texting him again, she hears a bing.

Troy:

we need 2 talk.

 _He might as well have just said that we're breaking up since I know that's what 'we need to talk' means anyways._ She thinks to herself hopelessly.

"Miss. Montez," The deep, characteristic voice of Mr. Jack Bolton announces his presence from the doorway.

"Hello, Mr. Bolton, can I help you?" Gabriella asks politely, willing herself not to tear up in front of her bosses' eyes that so much resemble Troy's own blues.

"Yes, actually," He says, stepping into the studio and approaching her, his stance tall and strong as usual. "We need to clear out some storage space in the hallway closet. There are a lot of your old pieces in there. I thought I should offer them back to you before we threw them out."

"Sure," Gabriella smiles weakly, "I can take them off your hands."

"Alright, if you need some help I can get Troy to give you a hand down to your car."

"No!" Gabriella says firmly, and then corrects herself, "I mean, thank you, but that won't be necessary. I can handle it."

Flashing her a quizzical look, Mr. Bolton quickly decides it best to not press on and leaves her be.

Gabriella throws her hands up and behind her head in defeat. She lays her head down on the desk for her flushed face to rest and probably simmer against the cool glass.

She hears her door open and immediately shoots up to sit in her chair properly. He enters the room, slouching against the doorframe in a stance that resembled the exhaustion she felt, too. "Do you have a minute?" Troy asks curtly.


	22. Holy Matrimony: Part One

_4½ years ago._

"She's in," The relieved voice of her assistant spoke into her headpiece.

"Copy that," Rachel responded. She shuffled her weight on her feet back and forth as she itched for the wedding to commence at the altar just a few yards away. Rachel never got quite used to those little butterflies in her stomach, always fluttering about on The Big Day. While the families enjoyed witnessing the beautiful ceremony of holy matrimony, Rachel had to ensure nothing went awry. Even the smallest inconvenience could set off a riot, one that she would be entirely blamed for as the wedding planner.

Rachel was a die-hard romantic. From an early age, the tales of princes and princesses choosing their true love against the plentiful obstacles delighted her. Up until college, she dotted her lowercase I's with little hearts and read about each celebrity couple in the magazines. Simply put, she loved love. So much so that she decided to become a wedding planner in hopes of witnessing the happiest fairytale day of a woman's life. She has gladly assisted a paraplegic groom with a heartbreaking tale of heroism; She even arranged for a dying bride to give a final vow on her deathbed. But for as many true love weddings she has had the fortune of planning, she's had to deal with twice the amount of bogus ones. She thought she had seen the worst of the worst; gold diggers repeating their vows of lies for the fifth time and nonchalant husbands clearly uninterested in the entire affair. This particular one, however, had thrown enough Bridezilla temper-tantrums for  _five_  wedding planner careers.

Lindsey's demands and attitude has stressed Rachel so much so that she's reconsidered her profession everyday since their initial meeting six months ago. Lindsey was inescapable, calling Rachel at every hour and pressuring her to get everything in order. The stress quickly manifested itself physically. It started with a small twitch in her lower left eyelid, evidence of the fatigue in her system. With Lindsey's relentless calls and pressuring, the twitch has by now spread to encompass the entire left side of her face.

To hear that this infamous bridezilla, the one who made Rachel postpone her own wedding, finally got her spoiled rear into her wedding dress was the good news she deserved. Never mind the bride's last minute demands or their tardiness today. So little was left to do before she would never have to see these people ever again. Hallelujah!

The venue was magnificent, a late century Catholic Church whose stained glass spilled colorful lights onto the awaiting witnesses huddled in the pews. Bouquets of expensive, rare flowers were placed on either side of each pew with petals scattered about the wooden floor around them. This bridezilla had style, Rachel admitted, and she was proud to see her vision come to life, no matter how demanding she was about that vision. Everything was finally perfect. Everything was almost over! Rachel stayed waiting by the alter for the next cue and let the warming sensation of relief pulsate through her nervous system.

"I'm going to be sick," The groom murmured to his Best Man just loud enough for Rachel to overhear. A panic antagonized the twitch in her face as she noticed a cold sweat sparkling over the groom's colorless face.

She couldn't hear what the best man was telling him, if it was anything helpful at all. Before she could join them, the groom bolted from the alter and past Rachel in a flash. All she caught of him was his suit-covered leg disappearing behind the wall. She looked back at the groomsmen at the alter, their eyes wide in shock and uncertainty much like her own, unsure of what to do next. " _Chad!_ " Rachel said in a hushed tone, motioning for the best man to follow her as she bundled her dress fabric in a fist and bolted out of the church.

"What has he had to eat today?" Rachel asked Chad as he caught up with her. They ran down a hallway lined with portraits of priests and saints until they approached the end.

"Uh," Chad thought, "He didn't eat anything this morning."

"Did you guys go out last night?" Rachel accused, throwing her body into the bathroom door. She spotted the groom breathing heavily with his back leaning against a stall. She rushed towards him, yelping in fright when she slid atop the slippery floor and nearly fell backwards in the process.

"Sorry," Troy said, referencing the vomit on the floor. He bent forward with his hands on his knees with his head hung down between them. It was either a position to ease the pain of his stomach or one of utter defeat.

"Sit down," Chad said, moving an armchair across the tile to him.

"Thanks," Troy sat down in the chair, his breathing still heavy and erratic and a thick layer of sweat evident on his forehead.

"Take off your jacket," Rachel ordered, "You need to cool down."

Rachel and Chad assisted Troy in removing his slightly damp tuxedo jacket. Then, Rachel turned on the faucet for cool water and doused a hand cloth. "Did you drink last night?" Rachel asked, wringing out the cloth in the sink.

"Not at all," Troy replied.

"Then what's going on?" Rachel asked, bringing the damp towel to his face, "Is it nerves?"

"Um," Troy thought, taking the cloth from her and dabbing his face himself.

"Answer her," Chad said.

Troy looked down at his dress shoes and swallowed, "I don't think I can do this."

"What do you mean?" Chad asked.

"I mean…" Troy shuffled in the chair uncomfortably, evidently conflicted with something, "I mean I don't think I can marry Lindsey."

Chad shook his head, seeming more annoyed by Troy's words than concerned. "What are you talking about? We're already here, man. Everybody is here to see you and Lindsey get married. It's what everyone came for and has known would happen since the invitations went out. I'm sorry, but it's practically already happened. Just get out there and do what you promised to do, what everyone is waiting to see."

"You're not listening to me. I'm telling you I don't want to marry Lindsey."

"Troy," Rachel said, "We're listening to you. What Chad means to say is that you shouldn't be afraid because the wedding isn't anything you haven't done already. You proposed, and since she said yes that means that this day was inevitable. What did you expect would happen? Did you think you'd stay engaged forever? This day is the final part of a promise that you started when you proposed to her."

Troy shook his head. "None of that convinces me to marry someone I don't want to marry."

"You should have known you didn't want to marry her before now," Chad argued. He looked down at his best friend, becoming more irritated by his excuses, "Maybe taking other people's time into consideration convince you?" Chad snapped, "Think about everyone's time and money that's been invested into today."

Frustration brought tears to Troy's eyes as he struggled to keep his voice down when he said, "That doesn't change the fact that I don't want to marry that woman, Chad!"

"Why do  _I_ have to be punished for this?" Chad stomped, "It's not my fault that you didn't realize you don't want to get married before you proposed!"

"This isn't about  _you_ , Chad!" Troy yelled.

"Gentlemen," Tonya Bennett, Lindsey's mother, entered the heated room. "What's going on? I could hear you from the hallway." Her eyes scanned the occupants, confusion evident in the wrinkles between her lowered brows. "Are we ready to get started?"

Chad sighed impatiently and pulled at the tight, hot pink bowtie around his neck. "That's a question for Troy," he said, crossing towards the door, "We're just waiting on  _him_." He pointed at the groom accusingly as he departed the bathroom.

"Rachel," Tonya spoke gently, the frazzled wedding planner jumping at just the sound of her name. "Could you give he and I a moment, please?"

"Sure." Rachel said, flashing Tonya a sideways glance in warning.

"Troy," Tonya crossed to the side of the armchair and knelt down by the armrest, "you know I already love you like a son. We'd be so fortunate to bring you into our family. What is with these second thoughts?"

Troy thought for a moment then said, "She isn't nice." He was surprised at the simplicity of the statement, but also its accuracy. It was a small element that he overlooked for so long, but was the root of his hesitation today.

"No, she isn't." Tonya agreed, "I believe that says more about you than her."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that having the ability to be with someone like Lindsey means that you're an exceptional guy. Not many people would have that kind of patience."

"So I should marry a mean person because  _I'm_  nice?"

"I'm not saying that's your reason, I don't know your reason. That's just what I have learned about you after seeing you with my daughter for all these years. You have your reasons for marrying her, don't you?"

"Of course. It's not like she's always like that. There have been good times, too. Just not lately."

"Troy, let me tell you something about relationships, every couple will have their ups and downs. William and I have, your own parents – well – anyways, everyone goes through it. Some times are more stressful than others. Wedding planning is one of those more stressful times. It's unfair to judge Lindsey just from these last months. She'll be relaxed and rejuvenated on her honeymoon and then you'll have your happy wife again. Happy wife, happy life."

"You mean until the next time she's unhappy again?"

Tonya sighed and suddenly stood. She glanced at the delicate watch on her wrist and rushed her words, "The next time you experience a stressful time, you'll have this one to look back on and know how to handle it better. And Troy, I hate to rush you right now, but the ceremony was set to start nearly an hour ago. We should really get you on the alter."

He let go of a large breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. "Fine."

The reception commenced a few blocks away at a luxury hotel. The ceiling hoisted circular panels lined with rows of lights in their gaps and a massive chandelier in the center above the dance floor. The guests had their fill of appetizers and drinks when they loitered outside beforehand, and now were filling themselves up with a delectable dinner.

The head table sat in front of a collage of the couple. The groomsmen lined the right side and the bridesmaids in their pink, bedazzled ensembles on the left. Ryan, one of the groomsman, sat to the right of the best man and held a small phone between the two of them to watch a muted basketball game. The two had arranged beforehand to trade turns glancing around the room to ensure they wouldn't be caught.

On Chad's turn to appear interested in the wedding, he asked, "How many dresses do you think she bought?"

"At least two." Ryan answered.

"C'mon, be real!" Chad said, "Switch." At his command, Ryan looked up from the game to watch the reception as Chad watched the game on the hidden device. "That's far too low for Lindsey."

"I don't know, three?" Ryan's dark eyes wondered about the room from tables occupied by Lindsey's ritzy family to Troy's humbler blood. "How many do  _you_  think?"

"I'm thinking four or five." Chad responded.

"That wouldn't make any sense," Ryan said, "She'd spend most of her night changing and reappearing in a different dress than enjoying the actual reception."

"Does Lindsey strike you as the kind of person who'd care about meeting Troy's extended family?"

"Touché. Switch."

Chad raised his eyes to the reception in front of him, "Her favorite part of the reception is the entrance where everybody's eyes are on her. She wants to maximize those reappearances. Four to five dresses. I'm telling you."

"I can't see that," Ryan quickly shook his head in disbelief. "You think Mr. and Mrs. Bennett would buy her - oh yes," Ryan thought to himself aloud, "they would. You may be right."

"No, I  _will_  be." Chad cockily reassured himself.

Ryan's eyes jumped up to look at Chad and challenged him, "We'll see. The night is still young."

"Can't ever say that I'm right, can you?"

"Can't ever be wrong, can you?" Ryan countered.

"Touché," Chad admitted. "Switch."

Although the two planned on being able to catch the entirety of the streamed game, they were forced to put away the device prematurely when Lindsey demanded to hear the toasts now. The disgruntled DJ grumpily introduced the wedding party to the room of people and shoved the microphone into Chad's hands.

"Hello," Chad spoke, standing to address the room. "My name is Chad, and I'm Troy's best man. Troy, Lindsey, and I met in high school. My favorite thing about this couple is how admirable they are. And I do, deep in my heart, admire them," Chad motioned towards Lindsey and Troy as a low murmur of aww's sounded across the room. "It's not everyday that the 'it' couple from high school makes it all the way to marriage, but that's not why I look up to them so much. I look up to them because of their progressive approach to their relationship; it's truly representative of the equality our generation strives for."

Chad glanced around to find that uncertain expressions replaced the once delighted faces. "Let me explain," He continued. "Troy and Lindsey aren't afraid of a little role reversal. Usually, it's the guy who chases the beautiful, popular girl. He stalks her in the hallway, following her from class to class in a borderline stalker manner. It's only when he's entirely worn her down by his relentless adWilliams that she finally gives him a chance. But this time, Lindsey played the desperate teenage boy and Troy played the poor girl!" Chad's large smile quickly dropped from his face when he realized he wasn't receiving the laughter he anticipated at all, but rather, glares and cringes.

"Thank you," Ryan quickly stood and took the microphone out of Chad's hands, and pressing his hands down on his shoulder to get him to sit down.

"Good evening, everyone," Ryan addressed the unreceptive room. "My name is Ryan Baylor, and I am one of Troy's best friends. Umm, tonight I just wanted to talk briefly about fate and God. I, like many other Christians here today, believe that God has a plan. Today, we witnessed one of God's many plans come to fruition. Our Lord has orchestrated all the events leading up to today from Troy and Lindsey's initial meeting. I feel incredibly privileged to witness this miracle. God bless you both."

Reaching for his glass of champagne, the onlookers mimicked his actions and together, they raised a toast to the couple. He passed the microphone back to the DJ to hand off to a bridesmaid and took his seat again.

"Shit, man," Chad spoke quietly to Ryan. "I should have let you speak for both of us."

"Yeah, that probably would have been a better idea than whatever the hell you were saying."

"What? I'm not allowed to be funny?" Chad defended himself.

"You can be funny, but not at the expense of the Bride."

"Well not all of us can think of a sermon. Wait, I didn't know you were religious."

"I'm not." Ryan smirked.

"Then what was all that about?"

"I found it online," Ryan raised his index finger to his mouth in a shushing motion.

"You're a genius," Chad praised him. The two stayed together to occasionally share a glance back at the game the rest of the duration of the reception. Their team was losing when the cake was cut, but had caught up by the time people started leaving. When the only left to do was help carry presents out to the cars, they quietly celebrated a victory.

...

Ryan finally found the proper door and swiped his card to open it after a brief misdirection in the poorly mapped hallways. He opened the door flipped on the light switch that turned on the few dim lamps. He led Chad into the room and took a seat on the long, black leather couch.

Chad found cabinets next to the bathroom door and removed two glasses from them. He then looked towards the liquor supply on the counter and decided on a black bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Whisky?" Chad offered, pouring a generous portion of the dark liquid into his short glass.

"No, thanks I'm…" Ryan hesitated once Chad sent him a smirk over his shoulder that said,  _c'mon, you know you want to_. "Actually, I think I will."

Chad poured another glass and proudly said, "That's my boy!" He brought the glasses to Ryan and sat next to him.

"Thank you," Ryan brought the glass to his lips and felt the liquid burn all the way down his throat.

"It finally happened," Chad leaned his head back to remove the hideous pink bowtie from his neck and discarded the fabric. "One of us is married."

"Yeah," Ryan sighed. "It's pretty surreal."

"Damn straight. I used to think that we'd be seventeen and free forever. No bills, no responsibilities. Just getting our team to nationals and exams to worry about."

"Those were the days, weren't they?" Ryan directed his gazed over eyes towards ceiling in thought. "But at least now we can drink now."

"Legally," Chad clarified.

"Yes," Ryan laughed. "Who do you think is next to get married?"

"I have no idea."

"It's not in your five year plan?"

"My what?"

"Five year plan, it's what people with ambitions and goals make."

"Thanks, dick," Chad said. "Is marriage in your plans?"

"No, I have other things in mind."

"Such as?"

"Oh, you know, the basics. Travel the world, meet new people, experiment."

"Experiment? Like, in a science lab?"

"Not exactly," Ryan blushed. "I mean like, sexually."

"Seriously!" Chad exclaimed, "That's surprising. You don't strike me as a very  _adventurous_  guy."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

"Tell me something you want to do."

Ryan stiffened, "I don't know, man."

"What? Is it that crazy?"

"No, it's your usual, same-sex curiosities," Ryan placed his glass on the table and shook his head. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Because you know you can and it won't get out. You can trust me with anything, dude. Keep going."

"Well, I suppose the first thing would be to kiss a guy."

"How long have you wanted to do that?"

"Before I wanted to kiss a girl, actually," Ryan confessed.

"Shit, we've known each other how long and I'm only now hearing about this?"

"Yeah," Ryan chuckled.

"All you had to do is ask." Chad said.

"Wha-? Are you saying you would…?"

"Kiss you? Yeah."

Ryan laughed, "You're messing with me."

"I'm drunk enough," Chad explained.

"Oh," Ryan suddenly stood. "I'm not interested in a drunk one-night stand, but thanks for the whisky."

"Have a good night." Chad responded, his eyes following Ryan's tall figure as he left the room.


	23. Holy Matrimony: Part Two

_4½ years ago._

Ryan pushed his head further and further into the warm, plushy fabric beneath him. He allowed the sheets to engulf him in a comforting embrace; holding on as long as possible to the slumber it had brought him.

 _Knock, knock_. Their knuckles continued their rhythmic pounding on the door.

A squeak escaped Ryan's lips as he rolled over onto his back and reached his bare, muscular arms out atop the sheets.

 _Bang, bang!_  The annoyance persisted.

"Coming!" Ryan barked back, forcing his fatigued torso onto his elbows. He struggled to flip the comforter off of him, but ultimately prevailed. With a bundle of sheets nipping at his heels from the floor, he walked to the door.

"Hey, man," Chad smirked, stiffly shoving his clammy hands into his jeans. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm tired," Ryan responded dryly with a croak.

"Yeah," Chad awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought you'd want to be woken up since it's already eleven."

"I guess," Ryan sighed. "I have to get some clothes on." He glanced down at his toned, naked chest. "I'll meet you down there."

"I can wait."

"Oh," Ryan said, peering at Chad with squinted, sleep filled eyes. "That's fine, too, I suppose." He spun around and led his friend into the room.

Chad found his seat from the night before and plopped down, the leather moaning as he did so. "How did you sleep?" Chad asked, locking eyes with the familiar bottle of whiskey on the counter.

"Fine." Ryan approached the grey suitcase at the foot of his bed and flipped it open. He took just a moment hunting for the right article before capturing a grey T-shirt.

"That's good," Chad watched as the soft fabric slowly cascaded over Ryan's torso before settling comfortably on him.

"What about you?" Ryan yawned, next searching a second suitcase on the floor for pants.

"Yeah, good." Chad said, averting his eyes from Ryan's figure to reach for the bottle of whiskey.

"Not already," Ryan whimpered.

"What's that?" Chad asked, finding his seat again and setting the bottle on his lap. He nervously began screwing and unscrewing the cap to the bottle, the fidgeting evidence of his anxiety.

"Are you drinking again?" Ryan asked.

"No, I just…" Chad cleared his throat. "I don't know." He quickly replaced the bottle on the counter and approached the door.

Ryan, now fully dressed, followed Chad through the maze of disorienting hallways and down elevators to the restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel. The hostess greeted and promptly sat them at a table by the windows, a large hedge of shrubbery occupying most of the view.

"I don't know about you, but I'm in need some OJ," Ryan commented, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his disgruntled, empty stomach.

"Yeah," Chad was quick to agree.

Ryan flashed Chad a quizzical look, but shrugged off his jumpy behavior and studied the menu. He found reading the words on the menu a difficult task with the vibrations from Chad's tapping foot. "Are you alright?" He suddenly spoke.

"What do you mean?" Chad defensively responded.

"I mean, something's diff-" Ryan trailed off, a memory of the night before coming back to him.

"Good morning, gentlemen," A waiter approached their table wielding two glasses of ice water. The man placed small, square napkins atop the glossy wood of the table and set the glasses on them. "Anything else to drink?"

"Two mimosas, please," Chad ordered.

Ryan held his finger up to specify, "One without champagne."

"So," The waiter cast a perturbed look to Ryan, "orange juice?"

"Yes," Ryan chuckled.

"Alright!" The man laughed. "I'll get those right out and give y'all some time to look at the menu."

"Thanks," Chad said. He folded his arms over his chest and squinted down at the menu on the table from beneath furrowed brows.

"Chad…" Ryan spoke, the gentleness and caution of his tone evident of his concern. "What I told you last night doesn't change anything between us. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable that I might like you or anything like that. We're still best friends. Okay?"

"I'm not uncomfortable with you being bicurious," Chad spoke quietly.

"It seems like you are."

"I just…I'm…" Chad huffed, growing impatient with himself. He leaned over the table and spoke lowly, "Okay, you told me your secret last night because you trusted me not to tell anyone. I expect the same when I tell you this."

"Yeah," Ryan said. "Of course, man."

"Promise," Chad requested.

"I promise."

"I…" Chad glanced around the restaurant before whispering even quieter, "I want the same things."

"Oh!" Ryan exclaimed, reasonably surprised.

Chad glanced over his shoulder; paranoid someone might dare read both of their lips. "Yeah. So, what do you think?" He asked evenly against the disruptive thumping of his heart in his chest.

"I'm starting to think that maybe this is normal. I was so weirded out by my urges all through high school, now I find that one of my best friends had similar thoughts all along! It's comforting, man. Thanks for telling me."

"Mm hmm."

"This is great!" Ryan rejoiced. "We could go to a strip club together or something. We could be each other's wing man!"

"Hold up, I'm not about ready to go broadcasting my bicurious tendencies to a room full of strangers."

"Why not? They are, as you say, strangers."

"It's just not what I want. I'd want something private. I'd want to experiment with someone I can  _trust_ …"

"Are you saying…?"

"Yes. I want you."

"Mimosa," the waiter announced his presence, setting the mimosa down on Chad's side. "And one mimosa, hold the champagne. Are we ready to order?"

"I'm not hungry anymore," Chad suddenly spoke up, taking out his wallet and flinging a ten-dollar bill on the table.

"Me neither," Ryan said, leading Chad out of the restaurant.

...

"Ugh!" The woman scoffs, weaving a lock of her blonde hair between her manicured fingers with one hand and scrolling through her bedazzled cellphone with the other. "This seasons Prada is already sold out. Can you believe that?"

"No," he nearly snores, an eye mask covering his eyes, his limp limbs resting in the seat.

"Excuse me, Miss," The stewardess pushing a cart down the tight aisle friendly smiles at Lindsey. The cart of glass bottles shakes and rattles as the little turbulence rocks the plane.

"What?" Lindsey responds briskly, her hateful, brown eyes glaring at the woman.

"Could you move your bag, please?" The patient stewardess responds.

Lindsey exhales heavily in responds, bends over to grab her bag, and lifts it over her to drop on Troy's lap roughly.

Startled, his legs and arms shoot up in response and he quickly takes off his mask. "What is your problem?" He asks angrily.

"What?" Lindsey barks back, "I had to put it  _somewhere_."

Troy simply stares at her disbelievingly, as though he couldn't comprehend the selfish character of his own wife.

"Troy," Lindsey laughs right into his perturbed gaze. "It's a bag," she removes the purse from his lap and drops it onto the floor by her feet. "Get over it."

"It's just disrespectful," Troy murmurs.

"Well maybe if we had a private jet instead of this first class crap, I would have plenty of room for my bag." Lindsey presses a heel into the leather of the bag to push it underneath the seat of the stranger in front of her.

"We already talked about this Lindsey," Troy sighed. "It wasn't worth it. Just be grateful that your dad paid for the wedding. You got exactly what you wanted."

"Not exactly how I wanted it," Lindsey sneered.

"Well, the one hundred thousand got close enough."

"Apparently we should have used some of it to get a better planner. That Rachel was a nightmare."

"Whatever." Troy shrugged off Lindsey's complaint. "It's in the past."

"It was supposed to be the happiest day in my life!" She yelled, only to receive well-deserved dirty looks from the fellow flyers. "Every girl dreams of her flawless, fairytale wedding."

Lindsey's words fell on Troy's disinterested, preoccupied ears the rest of the flight, the car ride to the hotel, and all the way up to the room.

"Those flowers looked so old," Lindsey hesitated, evidently losing steam with her rant. "It was disgusting."

"Yeah," Troy said mindlessly, pulling a suitcase from the cart the kind valets were currently unloading. "We have to get dressed quickly," he said, glancing at the clock across their honeymoon suite.

"For what?" Lindsey scoffed.

"The hike." Troy patiently reminded her.

"Oh God," Lindsey flinched. "I know you weren't serious about that."

"Why wouldn't I be serious about that?"

"Do I strike you as a hike girl?"

"Babe," Troy abandoned his search and approached Lindsey, gently encasing her wrists with his big hands. "We're doing shopping and spa most of the time on this vacation. This is the only thing I want to do. Everything else is for you."

"I know, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't want to hike." Lindsey sneers, removing her hands from Troy's light grip and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Linds - just go on this hike with me this afternoon," Troy pleaded. "Try to have a good time and the rest of the trip can be about you, I promise."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Lindsey finally obliged. She unenthusiastically dressed in the hiking attire Troy laid out for her and put her cascading blonde hair in a high ponytail. Although Lindsey agreed to go along, she didn't agree to keep her mouth shut and Troy quickly regretted not making that part of the agreement.

"It's hot," she whined as the hot, Honolulu sun shined down on them when they left the hotel.

"The leather is sticking to me," she said as they rode in the car to the mountain.

"It's too humid! My hair is getting frizzy!" She announced once they found the nature center.

"Aloha," a native man greeted them, his voice and demeanor both serious. "My name is Akamai. I will lead you through the forest and show you the most beautiful sight this side of the mountain. We will ascend nearly two thousand feet together in this heat, so make sure to stay hydrated. Too many visitors underestimate the effects of the Hawaii climate."

"Sounds good!" Troy smiled.

"Ugh," Lindsey pushed past Troy and the guide. "Let's get this over with." She said, leading the group up the trail.

Akamai exchanged a silent look of disbelief with Troy, who apologetically shrugged his shoulders in response. He rolled his eyes and followed the vividly pink figure up the muddy path, Troy trailing behind him.

"God, it's so humid. It's like the air itself is sweating." She said and Troy couldn't exactly argue, not like he'd want to, but because he understood her meaning. The air felt exceptionally heavy from the water in it, if possible. It was as though it held a weight. Unlike Lindsey, Troy could see past the discomfort and enjoy the surroundings.

After some time walking through the tropical rain forest, surrounded by healthy vegetation and exotic animals, Akamai said, "Pause here."

"For what?" She asked.

"There's a cave I would like to take you by." Akamai walked off the trail and led the couple along a narrow, barely traveled path along the mountainside. "Very few people know of its location."

"Hmm, maybe because they don't want to." Lindsey murmured just loud enough for Troy to hear.

"Shh!" Troy snapped back, "I'm trying to listen."

"Ahh!" A scream emitted from Lindsey's open mouth as she flailed her arms around wildly.

"What is it?" Troy turned towards her, settling his hands on her shoulders.

"I walked right into a freaking spider web!" Lindsey flicked her hand and spotted a small spec fall onto the trail. Her vengeful eyes zeroed in on the little creature and she landed a heavy stomp atop its defenseless body.

"No!" Akamai yelled, crouching down the examine the smushed parts and declared, "This is a Kaua'i cave wolf spider."

"So…?"

"They're endangered."

"And if they get in my hair one more time, I'll see to it that they become  _extinct_ ," She spat.

"You terrible woman!" Akamai roared, "I've had it with you tourists disrespecting my land! Hawaii was much better before you and your ancestors came along."

"I'm sure my ancestors saw it as the shithole it is then, too."

"Stop being such a bitch!" Troy yelled at Lindsey.

"What did you just call me?" Lindsey said, her bottom lip quivering with shock and sadness.

"Enough!" Akamai interrupted. "I'm not here to be your marriage counselor. I'll show you the way down, but only because I don't wish to lose my job. Let's head down."

Lindsey cut in front of the men and stomped her feet the entire descent.

...

"That…was…" Chad panted, his chest raising the sheets with each inhale.

"Amazing?" Ryan asked.

"Certainly something close to that," Chad responded.

"Not to bad for your first gay encounter?"

"I don't think that count as gay," Chad raised to sit up, glancing back over his shoulder at Ryan as he spoke. "We were just messing around."

"Yeah,  _just messing around_  with your mouth around my-"

"Ryan," Chad interrupted, "It was just messing around, okay? I'm not gay."

"Just messing around though? I thought I was clear. I want something meaningful."

"I didn't say we wouldn't do it again."

"So what do you want? Some dude to have sex with and freely toss to the side when you're done with him?" Ryan roughly flung the sheets off of him and stood to get dressed.

"Ryan, wait," Chad reached his hand out and laid it atop Ryan's on the sheets, effectively freezing him.

"I told you I don't want a one-night stand."

"That's not what this would be. I'd never throw you away. We'd still be friends."

"So friends with benefits?"

"More than that."

"A couple?"

"Less than that."

"Chad, I don't think you know what you want. I do, and it's not this."

"I know what I want. I want a guy to be intimate with and possibly love, but not publicly. I really admire how open you've been, but I'm not that brave."

"What sucks is that I want what you want and would hide it just to be with you."

"Then let's do it. Be with me."

"Will you come out eventually?"

"I can't promise that."

"Can you reconsider it? Like,  _really_  reconsider it often?"

"Yes. I promise I will."

...

"So, do you ever want to talk about this?" Troy asked as they both entered the private suite after sitting through the rest of the day, including dinner, in an uncomfortable silence. "I'm sorry, Lindsey."

"I believe you," Lindsey reached her forearm behind Troy's head and pulled him forward for a kiss, "Besides, I'm a lover, not a fighter." Lindsey giggled, and stood on the tips of her toes to deepen the kiss with Troy. Her long fingers found the hem of Troy's T-shirt and dove underneath to touch his toned abs.

Troy was receptive to her adWilliamments. He stroked his hands down her body before gripping at her bottom and pulling her closer to him. She began backing up to the bed until she could sit back on it. He braced her neck with his hand and slowly leaned on top of her, lowing her as he did so. Once she landed on the bed, he reached into the bag next to his bedside table for a condom.

"Don't use a condom," Lindsey ordered.

"What?" Troy said, unsure whether or not he had heard her correctly.

"Don't use a condom," she repeated.

"You could get pregnant," Troy reasoned.

"I want a baby."

Troy blinked and shook his head, utterly dumbfounded. "Since when? Lindsey, you've never expressed any desires to be a mom."

"I don't have to explain my wants to you, Troy," Lindsey said, sitting up on the bed resolutely.

"Well, having a kid is more than a want, anyways," Troy attempted to reason with her again, "It's responsibility. Add on that this is seemingly coming out of nowhere and I think I have plenty of reasons to question you about it."

"I didn't question you when you said you wanted to be a dad straight out of high school."

"That was awhile ago."

"We both know you've mentioned it since then, obviously. What's the problem? Is it because I'm suddenly a bitch?"

"No! I just. I - I don't know. We just got married, you know?"

"Isn't that when people are supposed to have kids?"

"Yeah, I guess. I just – I'm just not sure that's what's right for us."

"Because I'd be a bitch as a mom, too, right?"

"Lindsey, I'm not saying that."

"You were saying that earlier today!"

"That has nothing to do with why I don't want to have a kid."

"Then why don't you?"

"I don't want to have a kid now, it's bad timing."

"Bad timing for what?"

"Bad timing - You know what? You said that you didn't have to explain your reasons, so I don't have to explain mine either."

"You don't love me, do you?"

"What? Of course I love you, Lindsey."

"Of course? How is that supposed to be so obvious when my husband won't start a family with me!"

"Lindsey one has nothing to do with the other."

"Not to me, Troy. Not to me. You would give me a baby if you really loved me."

"I can't."

"Then you don't love me," her lip began quivering. "My own husband!"

"Don't cry, Lindsey. I still love you."

"No you don't."

"I love you."

"Then give me a baby," Lindsey cried.

"I don't know…" Troy dropped his head.

"You don't have to do anything," she said. "Just relax." Lindsey pressed her palms into Troy's shoulders and guided him to lie down on the bed.

"I don't know about this Lindsey," Troy raised his sweating hands up to her to keep her off.

"Shhh," Lindsey put a finger over his lips. "Just close your eyes. It'll be over before you know it."


	24. Three Small, Big Words: Part One

_February 26th, 2016.  
Friday._

She shies her chocolate colored eyes away from his penetrating gaze – feeling weak and vulnerable underneath its scrutiny. Her eyes start at his dress shoes before tracing up his grey suit and inevitably setting on the skinny, light blue necktie peaking out of his suit jacket.

"So can we talk?" He asks, interrupting the pointless silence.

Gabriella uncrosses her legs beneath her desk to stand. She nervously holds her hands in front of her chest tightly as she crosses the small room towards him. "I'd rather we didn't," her eyes don't dare look into his, and her voice is just as timid. "It's not a good idea to break up with me somewhere I have to spend substantial amount of time in. I don't want to associate anything in this room with this moment. I mean, look at all the stuff in here I couldn't use anymore!" She exclaims, crossing over to her easel and grabbing a pencil. "Every time I go to use this pencil, I'm going to go 'oh, no! That's the pencil that was on the easel when Troy broke up with me," she offers it out to him, "This is the breakup pencil!'"

"Breakup pencil," Troy repeats, taking the item into his palm and studying it.

"Exactly," Gabriella says. "Can't we do this elsewhere?"

"While I would agree to that," Troy begins, approaching the massive windows on the opposite side that overlook much of downtown LA. "I don't believe your fears will come to fruition."

"What do you mean?" She asks, gazing at his silhouette obscured by the bright reflection of the setting sun in a neighboring skyscraper's windows.

Troy reaches his hand out to the window and rests it on the warm glass, "I don't want to break up with you."

"You don't?" Gabriella asks, reasonably surprised.

Troy spins back around to face her, a look of concern accenting his features. "No," he speaks gently, "of course not."

"Oh," Gabriella says, her hands finally untangling themselves, "It's just that…You seemed so upset with me and then we missed Valentine's Day."

"Well," Troy sighs, placing his hands in his pockets. "I  _was_  pretty upset, yeah, but I didn't think what you did was unforgivable."

"You didn't?" Gabriella asks hopefully.

"No," Troy explains. "After I thought about it for awhile, I realized that your reasons for not telling me were fair. I still think that bringing it up would have been best, but I get that you were scared. You don't want to seem like you're taking advantage of me. You were concerned that it would put stress on our relationship, and I respect that."

Gabriella swallows nervously. "You do?" She asks, her voice small.

"Of course!" Troy nearly laughs, humbled by her nervous demeanor. He takes a few strides atop the wooden floor boards to her and brings his big hands up to rub her arms caringly. "I love that you were looking out for us." He brings his soft lips to her forehead in a gentle peck.

"But, what about Valentine's Day?" She glances up at him, her big, sad eyes studying him intensely.

Troy drops his hands from her and looks down, taking in and letting out a heavy sigh before saying, "My grandfather passed away."

A sharp inhale caught in Gabriella's throat, "Troy," She begins, curling her fingers around his arm. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I had to fly out to Vegas with my mom to see him before he passed."

"Troy, I…I just wish I could have known. I wish I could have been there for you." Gabriella rubs his arm a little longer before bringing her arms around him in a supportive hug.

"Thank you, Gabi." Troy reciprocates the embrace and rests his forehead against hers.

"I suppose that's how you felt when you learned that I was struggling with the studio – that you wish you could have known so you could have been there for me, however that meant."

Troy smirks and pecks Gabriella on the tip of her nose, "Exactly."

"Let's promise not to keep anything from each other," Gabriella says.

"No more secrets," Troy says. "I promise."

"I promise." Gabriella says before resting her head against his strong shoulder as he brings her into a long embrace.

...

The long, brown curtains had been securely closed and the row of lights hanging high above him flickering on a low, romantic setting. The man sits deep in his leather couch with his feet nonchalantly on the coffee table in front of him. On the large flat screen hoisted above his fireplace, an adult video of two men stroking and kissing various parts on each other's bodies plays.

 _Buzz_ , his doorbell rings. He glances behind him towards the Godzilla poster on the back of his front door in annoyance. He decides to pause the pornographic video for a moment and listen for the stranger at the door to leave.

 _Buzz_ , the doorbell rings again. He huffs in agitation and stomps over to the door. He cautiously opens the door, effectively concealing his aroused part behind it. "Yeah?" He asks, only then recognizing the dark-skinned man.

"Hey," Ryan says quietly. "Sorry for showing up unexpected. I tried texting you."

"Oh, yeah," Chad awkwardly scratches at his scalp, "I don't have my phone near me. So," his eyes shoot around his surroundings in a forced casualness, "What did you need?"

"I wanted to pick up the blueprints for the Iglesias account," Ryan explains. "Your dad told me you brought them home with you."

"Yeah, I got them. Why do you need them now? It's Friday night."

"I wanted to work on them over the weekend."

"Suit yourself, I guess. I'll be right back."

"Can I come in?" Ryan asks.

"Umm," Chad begins, uncertain of his ability to turn off his television before Ryan could see.

"Is Taylor over?"

"No," Chad says. "Can you just give me a minute?" He shuts the door between them and heads back into the heart of his apartment. He ignores the frozen scene on the television and heads straight into his bedroom. There, he locates his briefcase atop his dresser and flips through its contents in search of the proper file. He grabs it, closes the briefcase, and goes back to his front door.

"Here," Chad says, "I didn't take the financial sh-"

"Chad…" Ryan interrupts him, "I know that it's none of my business, but you shouldn't be messing around when you have a girlfriend."

"What are you talking about?"

"Whoever you have in there," Ryan says quietly.

"No one is-" Chad glances into the apartment behind him. "No one else is here with me."

"I'm just saying, you'd be sparing her a lot of heartache if you broke up with her now."

"Ryan," Chad laughs in exhaustion. "You so don't understand."

"Let me guess, it's complicated?"

"Ryan, let's not get into this again." Chad raises his palm out warningly.

"It's always complicated with you, isn't it?" Ryan raises his voice; "You can't ever just be satisfied with your partner. You can't just take ownership of your feelings. It'd just be too easy to accept who you are and who they-"

"Ryan!" Chad feels his patience quickly dissipating into the tense air above them.

"And who  _they_  are!" Ryan pauses, attempting to regain control of his emotions, "I don't believe for a second that things are really that complicated between you two. You have an infamous track record of complicating simple concepts."

Chad suddenly lunges towards Ryan, his hands pushing him by his torso against the wall next to them. He stares darkly into his eyes while his clenched fists bundle the fabric of his shirt. Chad keeps his watering eyes locked on the man as his heavy breathing blows over the man's face.

"I-" Ryan begins, his heart rate increasing underneath Chad's threatening composure.

In a few instants, Chad's eyes soften from fury to drowsy, and his hands loosen their grips on Ryan's shirt. He heaves a few more heavy breaths before suddenly locks his lips against Ryan's.

His eyes wide in surprise, Ryan is initially unsure of how to react. His body quickly gives in to Chad's advances as his mouth opens against Chad's big, soft lips.

The two figures disappear from the hallway and into the private confines of Chad's apartment.

_February 27th, 2016._

_Saturday._

At its set time, Taylor's alarm erupts in a fit of buzzes and dings at 6:00am on the dot. She smacks the alarm and flings her heavy comforter off of her. She sits up and throws her legs over the side of the bed, immediately curling her torso forward once she feels the nausea set in. She pushes off of her bed and races across the apartment to the bathroom. She throws her body into the door and drops to her knees on the tile in front of the toilet and begins emptying her stomach's contents into the bowl.

After the ordeal, she slowly leans back on her knees and wipes her mouth with a piece of toilet paper. She leans onto the side of the bathtub for support as she lifts herself up. After brushing her teeth and rinsing her mouth, she finds her most comfortable pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt. She curls up on the edge of her bed and uses her cellphone to dial a familiar number. It goes straight to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me," Taylor says. "I wanted to speak with you about something sometime today. We could meet up for lunch, somewhere casual. There's something we need to talk about. Get back to me. Thanks." She drops the phone into her bag and sets off for the grocery store.

"Flour," Taylor reads the list to herself quietly while battling with the unruly shopping cart to roll straight.

"Taylor McKessie!" A voice yells, Taylor looks up in shock to find a familiar red-haired woman.

"Katherine!" Taylor responds. "Well, hey there!"

"Christ! It's been so long, how have you been?"

"I'm um, I'm okay." Taylor was unsure how to respond. Truthfully just wouldn't be appropriate given, well, the truth. She knew that Katherine's questions were simply meant to be polite, not that their conversation should continue much further than the typical 'how've you been' chatter. Taylor hadn't seen this woman since their rotation together her second year of nursing school. While she could have considered the kind woman a friend at one point, that wasn't possible anymore given their long time apart. Nevertheless, the two proceed with their borderline forced pleasantries.

"That's great!" Katherine responds. "Really, that's fantastic! You know, I got married!"

"Wow!" Taylor exclaims, her envious eyes peering at the wedding band and diamond engagement ring. "How long ago was that?"

"Three years and two babies ago."

"You have kids, too?"

"We sure do! Are you seeing someone?"

"Yes, I…I'm actually pregnant now, but the guy and I only just started dating."

"Oh dear. What are you going to do?"

"Well, it's early enough that I could get a pill to…you know."

"Oh sweetie, no judgment here. It is your choice and you're smart enough to decide what's best for you."

"Thanks. I wish I could keep it and have a happy little family together, but that's just unrealistic," she pouted.

"I'll tell you a secret, Taylor," Katherine glanced her vibrant green eyes around the isle to check for privacy, "I thought the same thing about my husband."

"What do you mean?"

"I was already three months pregnant when we got married. We had only dated for a few weeks when I got pregnant. I thought I  _had_  to get an abortion. I assumed he'd leave me to raise it alone or worse, we'd force ourselves to raise it together and grow to resent both each other and the innocent kid. It seemed like abortion was the only answer.

"I told him what I decided and while he wasn't happy about my choice, he supported me. Then the day of my procedure came. It was early enough that I could take pills instead of surgery, you know, one in their office and one at home. They handed me the first one and a cup of water. I stared at it for a while then looked up at the child's father. He looked so conflicted and disturbed, like he was itching to stop me. The look on his face and my own reservations are what caused me to change my mind. So we left."

"And, it's been good ever since?" Taylor asks in amazement.

"Well," Katherine sighed, glancing above in thought. "It's stressful. I don't get as much sleep as before and the house is way more claustrophobic. Raising a kid is what you'd expect, the good and the bad. Nevertheless, I'm proud of he and I for keeping the baby. He's proven himself to be a caring, wonderful father. I couldn't imagine a world where he wasn't."

"Wow, that's incredible."

"Yeah, I'd say talk to your guy about it. Who knows, maybe you'll make for a happy family after all."

"Thanks, Katherine."

"Of course. It's nice seeing you, Taylor." Katherine wrapped an arm around Taylor in a quick hug before continuing down the isle.

...

"Good morning, Sexy," Chad speaks softly, directly into Ryan's ear as he slowly awakes from his sleep.

"Hey," Ryan leans away, gripping at the bedside table for his phone immediately.

"No morning cuddle?" Chad asked, attempting to mask his actual disappointment for playfulness.

"You're in a relationship, Chad." Ryan nearly spits, an unexpected anger surfacing within him.

"That wasn't a problem for you last night," Chad argues.

"I was overtired and it was a mistake," Ryan clarifies. He steps onto the cold, hard wood floor and bends down to find his clothing.

"Yeah, it was a mistake," Chad agrees. "I should have broken up with Taylor first. I hope you don't feel too guilty about it. I'm the one in the relationship, not you."

"Shows how much you know," Ryan scoffs.

"What?" Chad asks.

"I'm seeing someone."

"A guy?"

"Yeah. I was going to introduce him to the guys soon."

"Oh, so you like him?"

"Evidently not as much as I thought given what happened here last night," Ryan motions towards the bed. Disappointed in himself, he scratches at the back of his neck and pivots to face the door.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I'll probably just end it," Ryan decides. "No reason hurting him with unnecessary truth."

"I'm going to break up with Taylor," Chad says.

"Well, at least we're doing something right," Ryan shrugs, unsure if he was just making up excuses for them or if he actually believes his words.

"For you."

Ryan spun back to face Chad, a perplexed expression on his face, "What?"

"Everything about Taylor seems so superficial in comparison to what we had."

"What we had was just a secret."

"Not any more," Chad sighs heavily. "Against my every instinct, I will come out."

"Are you serious?"

Chad nods his head.

"I've been waiting years to hear you say that," Ryan bows his head as tears begin their trek down his cheekbones.

...

With Katherine's testimony still running through her mind, Taylor scrolls through a baby shower Pinterest board, waiting for Chad to arrive. She continues to glance up at every patron entering the intimate café, until finally, she recognizes one.

"Hello Chad," Taylor calls him over.

"Taylor, I'm glad we could meet up." Chad takes his seat. He barely glances at the menu before cutting to the chase, "What did you want to talk about?"

Taylor inhales in attempt to calm her wired up nerves, "There's no way to lead into this, so I'm just going to say this."

"It's alright," He encourages her. "Say what you need to say."

"Chad…I am pregnant."

"That's not was I was expecting," Chad laughs uncomfortably, almost manically.

"I was thinking that we should probably move in together and raise the baby together."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Chad puts his hand up. "When did we skip over the options?"

"Well, I don't believe that any other option are as good as stepping up to the plate and raising this child."

"Oh, so you just decided that for the both of us?" Chad asks, his voice rising with defensiveness.

"Chad…"

"You just expect me to do whatever you say, forget what I might want!" Chad yelled, a silence clouding all around them as others froze to watch. Reasonably embarrassed, Chad ducks his head and heads for the door to leave.

Taylor briefly considers rushing after him, but thinks better of it.  _Let him process it_ , she tells herself.  _He's just shocked._  She remains at the café, alone, with her hand resting on her abdomen.

...

"I had a great time tonight, Troy." Gabriella says, facing Troy on her building's stoop beneath a gloomy and overcast sunset.

"Just tonight?" Troy asks, an exaggerated expression of worry on his features, "Oh no! What did I do wrong before?" He drops his arms around her dramatically and pulls her tight into hug, "Tell me, Gabi!"

Gabriella giggles and begins patting Troy on the back consolingly.

"I always mess this up." Troy mock whines, cracking his voice for more effect.

"There, there," she continues patting him, giggling as she does so.

"You're so warm." Troy begins twisting Gabriella side to side in his arms.

"So is my apartment."

Troy loosens his embrace and leans back to look at Gabriella, "Are you inviting me up?"

"Sure," Gabriella stands on her toes and pecks him on the lips.

"What about Taylor?" Troy groans.

"Would that bother you? I mean, I hear her and Chad fool around every once in a while. We just never mention it."

"I don't know. I want to spend the night with you, but I'm not so comfortable with Taylor hearing us."

"Hmm, if only there was another place we could go," Gabriella wiggles her eyebrows. "One either of us owns, lives in alone, and has the nicest view of the skyline."

"You want to go to my place?"

"Your place!" Gabriella exclaims, playfully tapping herself on the forehead with her palm, "Why didn't I think of that? That's a great idea, Troy."

"I know."

...

After completing their touches and kisses for the night, Gabriella quickly falls asleep in Troy's arms while he softly strokes her upper arm. His eyes gaze down at the soft patch of skin his thumb has run over countless times tonight, studying and admiring its miniscule lines. When suddenly, the buzz of his phone erupts from his bedside table.

"Hello?" Troy says quietly.

"What would you do if Gabriella got pregnant?" Chad asks.

"Hang on," Troy says, glancing down at Gabriella. Although she appears asleep, he decides not to risk her overhearing. Cautiously, he removes himself from the bed and departs the room. He saunters over to the couch and drops down onto it. "I'd marry her."

"Whoa, really?"

"Yes. That's a hypothetical though, and I have a convincing feeling that it's not a hypothetical for you. Taylor's pregnant, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is."

"Well, you're going to be much more busy now."

"Why is that already decided that we're going to keep it?" Chad complains.

"Is that what Taylor decided?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's decided."

"I don't get a say in it?"

"Nope, her choice."

"This is so unfair. I don't want to be a dad. Besides, Taylor and I don't exactly have the best relationship."

"What's wrong with Taylor? You guys seemed perfect."

"Yeah, right! You and Gabriella are the real thing. Taylor and I – she – we're just dating. She's a nice girl and everything, but I don't see myself ever loving her. I don't have that kind of pull to her. Besides, there's someone else."

"I don't care what you had with the other girl, you are not leaving your pregnant girlfriend for someone else. Ditch the other girl and step up to the plate, man. You can't run away from this."


	25. Three Small, Big Words: Part Two

_February 28th, 2016.  
Sunday._

The kitchen is buzzing about with its typical Sunday morning bustle. The bread browns to a perfect golden shade as it bakes in the oven, while the vegetables sizzle and the scrambled eggs fluff. Taylor personally sees to it that each of the tasks are completed to her clear specifications. This morning, not terribly unlike others before, her helpers are less concerned with the food as they are each other.

"It will be okay," Troy says hovering his flour-covered hand by her face to cup it before realizing the dirty state of his hand and veering it away. "Don't cry."

"I'm just so frustrated with her," Gabriella sniffles from her spot sitting atop the counter.

"Who?" Taylor finally asks, her curiosity overtaking her politeness to keep herself from eavesdropping.

"Kelsi," Gabriella sighs. "She never apologized for reaching out to Troy behind my back. We've been silently working around each other for weeks now, neither of us acknowledging it. It's just awful! We're supposed to be friends."

"Maybe she thinks what she did to you doesn't require an apology," Taylor hypothesizes.

"Of course it does!" Gabriella bellows. "Why wouldn't it?"

"Kelsi evidently has different priorities," Taylor continues, removing a perfectly baked loaf of bread from the oven and placing it on the cooling rack behind her. "She'd save the studio before worrying about your feelings. So to her, her actions were justified."

"I can't believe she'd think like that though," Gabriella sulks.

"I have to agree with Taylor," Troy says. "She puts you beneath the studio."

"Well even if she does, she must know that she hurt me nevertheless. Isn't that much worth an apology?"

"I think you might have to spell it out to her," Troy says. "Maybe she thinks you've been quiet for a different reason these past weeks. You can't expect her to know how she's hurt you without talking to her about it. If I were Kelsi, and I hurt you how she did, I'd want you to tell me."

"You're right," Gabriella nods, "The least I could do is talk with her about it. Who knows, maybe she'll apologize and we can remain friends after all of this?"

"Exactly," Troy smiles.

Gabriella jumps off the counter and wraps her arms around Troy's neck as he catches her. They remain in their tight embrace, allowing their sense for the surroundings to fade.

"Now that that's out of the way," Taylor says. "You think you two can handle taking these out to my car while I clean up?"

"You're asking if we can finally help you, right?" Troy smirks, still holding Gabriella in his arms.

"You could certainly interpret it that way," Taylor responds.

"Of course!" Troy breaks away from Gabriella and approaches the empty bags and cooling loaves of bread to package them. When suddenly, there is a knock on the door.

Taylor glances through the kitchen and past the dining room at the front door, staring at it hopefully. "I'll get it," she announces, stripping her apron from her body and laying it across the counter on her way to the door.

Troy and Gabriella exchange a quick, curious look before quietly following and leaning their heads past Taylor to see the door.

Taylor wraps her flour-covered hand around the cool metal knob and twists, slowly pulling the door open.

"Hey," Chad glances behind Taylor to see Troy and Gabriella far off in the kitchen.

Troy and Gabriella quickly reorient themselves to stand straight and exchange a surprised expression. Gabriella grabs his wrist to lead him down the hallway to her room.

After seeing the others disappear, Chad asks, "Can I come in?"

"Yes," Taylor says solemnly. She steps out of the way, her eyes following the back of his head until he takes a seat at the couch. She closes the door and crosses the small room to join him.

"I figured from your reaction that I'd never see you again," Taylor says, her posture erect and rigid.

"That…wasn't the case," Chad stretches his sweaty hands atop his pants. "I was just shocked by everything. I'm sorry if I concerned you."

Taylor silently grabs the pillow next to the armrest and set it over her lap, gently pulling on the bundle strings at its corners.

"How are you doing?" Chad finally asks after moments of awkward silence.

"I feel…scared," Taylor admits.

"Me too. Are you sure you want to keep it?"

"Yes, and I want you to step up to the plate and be there for me and the baby."

"I will."

"Can you promise you won't run off on me again?"

"Yes, I promise." Chad reaches an arm over Taylor and brings her into his chest.

_..._

They had met at this particular café countless times before, its gaudy art and layout forever burned in her memory. Anyone could peak in and see the two at their regular spots, drinking their regular drinks, and assume it was just another one of their many studio discussions before it. This time, however, is vastly different. The final days at the studio approaching thickens the animosity in the heavy air overhead.

"I just want to get this straight," Kelsi begins, her cold hands wrapping around the body of her large paper cup. "Troy would sponsor us if you let him, correctly?"

Gabriella gently lowers her mug to place it on the table, "I won't let him."

"But  _if_  you did, he would?" Kelsi flexed her hands a top the table as though she were physically trying to get a grasp at the situation, as well.

"Yes, Kelsi," Gabriella rolls her eyes, already growing aggravated. "Is that what you want to hear? Do you want me to say that I'm the one at fault? We had nearly fifty other donors. Any of them could have come to our rescue, but you'd rather focus on the one that I was romantically involved with."

"Those other donors weren't a hundredth as willing to donate as Troy," Kelsi spits, her breathing heavy and her eyes narrowing in fury. "All we needed was your little connection with him to push him over the cusp, but you refused to use it."

"Is my relationship with him only a business connection to you?" Gabriella wonders aloud. "Every time I told you about him, were you just thinking of how you could take advantage of it later?"

"Of course not!" Kelsi rolls her eyes, "Stop being so melodramatic. I was obviously as excited for you as I could be. Look, you can't see it as either using someone or not, it's not black and white like that. You can like someone as a person while asking them for money. I don't know what's so hard for you to understand about that."

"Troy didn't know that we existed before I met him," Gabriella explains. "His interest in the studio is a reflection of his interest in me and I refuse to take advantage of that."

"It wouldn't be taking advantage, it'd be using connections. That's how anyone has stayed afloat in the art scene since before the renaissance."

"That's simply not true," Gabriella argues. "We had Rick for so long."

"Oh Gabriella, don't be so naïve. Do you honestly believe Rick got too touchy out of nowhere? It had been building," she drops her voice. "I let him grope me for months before it went too far. The last time he tried ripping my clothes off and I stopped him. Now I'm starting to wish I hadn't."

Gabriella coolly leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. "If you want to justify whoring yourself out for the studio, that's your prerogative."

"Damn it!" Kelsi bangs her fist against the table, "I was making sacrifices to save  _our_  dream!"

Gabriella glances around the stuffy café to the other patrons sharing their space. She flashes a reassuring smile in response to their curious and concerned eyes. She grasps her mug to sip, but her shaking hand refuses to comply. She shifts in her seat for a moment before offering one final rebuttal, "My dream is to have my art keep me afloat, not my body, or my boyfriend. I apologize for the misunderstanding." With that final word, Gabriella abandons her half drunken latte on the table and begins walking towards the door.

"You know what, me too!" Kelsi abruptly stands, her chair screeching against the tile floor behind her, "I wish I had known you'd be this weak! It is  _your_  fault that our studio is closing! It's your fault!"

Gabriella cups her hand over her quivering lips as tears begin cascading down her face. She keeps her eyes on the concrete sidewalk as she passes by clueless strangers downtown. She sets off in the direction of the one person she knows can console her.

After a lonely five blocks, Gabriella enters the lobby of the luxury apartments and takes an elevator up to the top floor where he awaits. She steps out and into the small, brick encased hall where only his door stands. She rings the doorbell and is quickly confronted with a familiar presence.

"Come here," He holds his tanned arms out for her to crumble into, if need be.

She sniffles and wipes a mascara-laced tear from her cheek before putting her head against his strong chest.

Troy begins stroking her hair with his hand, guiding it out of her face and behind her ears. "It'll be okay," He says, embracing her in the doorway until she's ready to speak.

_..._

He had been pacing behind his couch in the living room for nearly twenty minutes waiting for his guest to arrive. He finds that moving helps stop him from crying, although the occasional tear still sneaks its way out. Finally, there's a knock. Chad somberly approaches the front door. He takes a moment to rub his puffy face before opening it.

"Hey," Ryan greets him, his face immediately dropping as he realizes something's off. "Are you okay?"

"Come inside," Chad leads the man inside his apartment and over to the couch.

"You did it, didn't you?" Ryan anxiously asks. "You still broke up with her, right?"

"Ryan…" Chad groans.

"What did you do?" Ryan asks.

"I can't leave her."

"Why not?"

"She's pregnant with my child!" Chad yells. "You can try and act like that's insignificant, but you know it's not. That's a big deal."

"A lot of people have accidents. They take care of it."

"Taylor won't do that. She wants to keep it. She wants to have a happy family."

"Did you tell her that you wouldn't stay?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because that'd be an awful thing to do. I'm not going to abandon the woman who's pregnant with my child. And can we talk about how her best friend is dating my best friend? I talked with Troy about it, and I know he'd be so disappointed if I flaked on her. He'd probably side with her since he is practically in love with Gabriella. I have to stay with her. If I left her I wouldn't just be breaking up with her, Troy would never speak to me again."

"Well, what about us?"

"Needless to say, we have to stop seeing each other."

"In every way?" Ryan moped.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, stop being friends, too?"

"Not necessarily. I mean, ideally we could remain friends."

"I don't know," Ryan says.

"Well, that's your choice. Anyways, I got to get going. Taylor and I are meeting to talk about baby things."

"Sure…I'll see myself out." With that, Ryan left the apartment.

_..._

_I fell in love with the way you touched me without using your hands._

"Aww!" Gabriella coos, her finger swiping down her phone and scrolling through the plethora of pretty colored quotes on the Pinterest board.

"Let me guess," Troy speaks from his spot in front of the stove, a smile forming on his lips at the thought of what she could be finding. "Another cute cat video," he theorizes, continuing to stir the vegetables in the pan.

"As a matter of fact, no." Gabriella says, rising from the couch and crawling up into a barstool at the kitchen island, "Not this time, at least. It's just a quote I found about love."

"Let me guess again…" Troy begins, grabbing a plate halfway full with pasta and meatballs. "It's in brush script font with a filtered background photo of a couple holding hands."

"Right about the font, wrong about the photo," Gabriella says, daintily placing napkin in her lap. "They're kissing."

Troy carefully places a scoop of steamed vegetables on the other side of the plate, and then puts it on the island in front of Gabriella. "Close enough."

"Thank you," She smiles gratefully at him, salivating over the dinner in front of her.

"Anything for you," Troy says, then mumbles underneath his breath, "even pasta five damn nights in a row."

"Hey!" She starts to defend herself, quickly chewing the tasty combination of noodles and marinara sauce in her mouth, "It's really your fault you can make the noodles so perfectly aldente."

"If there's one thing I know, it's making good pasta." Troy says, taking his seat next to Gabriella with a plate of his own.

"It  _is_  the one thing you know." Gabriella quips back.

"Nice," Troy says, chuckling and nodding his head approvingly at her jab.

"I'm glad you've grown to appreciate my insults."

"I've always appreciated them, babe." Troy admits, rubbing his knuckles up and down Gabriella's spine.

"Mmh," Gabriella moans, curling her back into his hand.

"Did I find a spot?" Troy asks, rubbing harder into her back.

"Oh yeah." Gabriella says, her head leaning back and her eyes closing in relaxation.

"Be nice and I'll give you a massage after dinner." Troy bargains with her, moving his hand to rest on her leg.

"How about you give me a massage after dinner anyways?"

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you want to and I asked nicely," Gabriella says, batting her eyelashes at him.

"C'mon, you know I can't resist when you give me those puppy eyes."

"That's exactly why I'm doing them," Gabriella smiles.

Troy looks at her intently, a warmth blossoming in his chest as he ponders vocalizing the sensation.

"Troy," Gabriella begins, mirroring his fond expression. She leans towards him, dropping her fork onto the plate and raking her fingers into his hair. They kiss each other tenderly before their imposing smiles force them apart.

Troy caresses her face in his hand, admiring her gentle features. "You're so beautiful. I can't imagine a world where I never met you. You have no idea how much light you've brought into my life, Gabriella. I love you."

"Troy," Gabriella cries, the tears lining her dark brown eyes overflowing onto her cheeks. "I love you, too."


	26. Growing Up: Part One

_5 years ago._

He aggressively pulled the thin fabric out of his collar in a show of frustration. It had been his third failed attempt at a tie knot; something his strict morning regime didn't allow time for. Standing in front of the mirror obscured by dried, toothpaste-laced splashes on its surface, the man wrapped the long fabric around his neck for the fourth time. He crossed it over itself and flipped it through the proper intersections until he finally managed to complete the tie. Satisfied with his look, he flattened his collar over the tie and glanced at his watch. _6:37am_ , he was running late.

The man flung the mirror open and removed a small jar of gel from its shelves, then closed the cabinet again. He speedily untwisted its lid and scooped out some of it into his fingers. He gave little attention to the task, preferring to walk around his small apartment in search of his briefcase instead of focusing on the look. He raked his fingers through his hair while pacing around the apartment to spot all of his necessities for his first day on the job.

He rinsed his hands in the kitchen sink and wiped them off on the little hand towel draping from the oven handle. "Jeremy!" He screamed across the apartment. He stomped his designer shoes across the kitchen and hallway towards the bedroom. He pushed the door open with so much force that swung all the way back around to the wall and hit it with a loud  _bang!_

A body stirred from beneath the messy bundle of sheets and blankets. "What the hell do you want, Blake?" The man groaned.

"My charger, Jeremy! I want my own god damn charger that I bought with my own god damn money, that you god damn stole from me weeks ago!"

"Check the bedside table," Jeremy sleepily groaned.

"Ask before you borrow and next time I won't need to wake you up so early," Blake exited the room and rushed back across the apartment to his own bathroom and quickly brushed his teeth, omitting floss and mouth wash to make up for the lost time.

...

"I'm sorry, sir," The receptionist spoke. "I cannot find you in our system."

"Well, as I said, it's my first day. So maybe my name and credentials aren't in the system yet." Blake tried to keep his voice down, but his first day in the office only aggravated his nerves and cost him his patience.

"I cannot let you pass without the proper credentials."

"So what am I supposed to do?" He snapped.

"You can wait for someone to identify you and bring you into the office under a visitor pass."

"It's my first day. Nobody here could recognize me besides Mr. Bolton."

"I will call Mr. Bolton for you and see if he can come out."

Blake spat, "please." Blake watched on solemnly as the elevator brought in countless other businesspeople who could easily scan their IDs and enter effortlessly. After five minutes, Blake sat in their reception area to wait. After another ten, he stood and approached the receptionist's desk again.

"Excuse me," he began, before being cut off by the receptionist.

"Sir, I have called Mr. Bolton's office. He's in a meeting and will be out when the meeting completes, please take a seat. There's nothing more I can do for you."

Blake sighed and retired to the chair again, watching as everyone else pass by for another half an hour. His body slowly sank lower and lower into the leather chair as he gradually relaxed.

"Blake!" The booming baritone voice of Mr. Jack Bolton rang out across the reception area.

Blake shot up to a stand, grabbed his briefcase, and walked over to Mr. Bolton in the doorway. "Good morning, Sir." He reached his hand out to Jack.

"Hello," Jack took his hand and gave it a strong shake before leading him into the office. "Welcome to the firm. I'm sure you already glanced around a little during your interviews."

"How could anyone resist? This office is awesome! And the building, too. I know you and your partner built it from nothing. I've always admired your projects. I think I can bring a lot of new, young ideas to your designs."

"I'm pleased with your enthusiasm, but you won't be drafting much as an intern. You're here to help the architects in anyway that may be, coffee runs or what have you. Do as they say and one day you can sit where they are. You'll pick up the way of the interns soon enough."

"I intend to prove myself as an extraordinary intern," Blake promised.

"You'll have some steady competition," Jack set off down the hallway past the conference rooms and studios. "I've known this group of interns since they were in diapers. They're quite the team." He turned to enter a small meeting room where a group of four young men sat. "Blake, meet the other interns. There's my son, Troy, my business partner's son, Chad, Ryan, and Jason."

"Hello, gentlemen."

"Hello!" Jason said while waving and the others simply nodded, not glancing up from the work on their laptops.

"I'll leave you to get acquainted," Jack announced his departure.

Blake stood awkwardly in the doorway with his hands wrapped around his briefcase's handle. "So, where should I sit?"

Ryan shrugged, while Chad glanced around the room before saying, "I guess find a chair."

"Alright," Blake set his briefcase down next to the door and unbuttoned his jacket. "Where do you suggest I look first?"

Without saying a word, Troy reached behind him and twisted the knob on a closet door open.

Blake cleared his throat, "alright." He carefully shuffled between the wall and their chairs over to the closet and entered the small, confined room. There, he spotted a stool underneath a large box marked  _Christmas Decorations._  He removed his jacket and hung it up on the corner of the door before struggling to move the heavy box to the ground. He began dragging the stool across the concrete floor of the closet when a red banner tickled his nose as it fell in front of his face. Peering down curiously at the object, he decided to pick it up from the ground and take it with him.

"Look at this little souvenir I got from the closet." He held the little triangular banner up to the others and read, "Wildcats!"

"No way!" Chad excitedly yelled out. He took the flag from Blake and held it up to the light to admire it better. "How did that wind up in there?"

"What are the Wildcats?"

Ryan answered, "You're looking at them, man!"

Chad yelled out, "What team?!"

Ryan, Troy, Zeke, and Jason all chanted back, "Wildcats!"

"That's damn right!" Chad smiled proudly.

Blake tried to piece it together, "Oh, so, it was like your team?"

"The best team in the great state of New Mexico," Chad answered.

"Is that so?" Blake said.

"Hell yes! At lest every year  _we_  played."

"Oh, you guys played?"

"Varsity all four years."

Jason reminisced, "We were unstoppable."

"It was amazing," Troy said. "We were on top of the world. Especially our senior year game."

...

_"The score is forty-three to forty-one," the announcer's voice boomed across the packed gymnasium. "West High Knights in the lead over the East High Wildcats. Two minutes left on the clock."_

_Fans on either side of the court stood in anticipation for the last couple minutes that would determine the state champions. The cheerleaders lining the threshold between the court and fans creating a sea of red and white chanted, "W! – I! – L! –D! Wildcats! Now's the time!"_

_The sound of sneakers squeaking across the court could still be heard over the rowdy crowd. The Knights passed the ball amongst themselves as they weaved between the Wildcats, full speed towards the basket. It was one fatal misstep that would cost them their state title. One of the knights stumbled over a loose shoelace and passed the ball right into Ryan's imposing hands. Ryan and the other began trekking back to the opposite side of the court, fourteen seconds left. He passed to Chad, ten seconds. Chad took a few more strides with the ball before passing it off to Jason, eight seconds. Jason fumbled with the ball, costing them three precious seconds. When there were four seconds left on the clock, Jason passed it to Troy. Three. Troy sprinted from half court to the three-point line. Two. He took a shot. One._

_The deafening buzzer rang out just as the ball swished through the net. The score changed to forty-four for the Wildcats, a one point victory over the Knights' forty-three._

_"Atta boy!" Jack Bolton screamed, flinging his clipboard in the air in excitement and rushing onto the court, a landslide of bodies trailing behind him._

_"Troy! Troy! Troy!" They chanted._

_"Move!" A blonde girl from the Wildcats side sent her bony elbows into the sides of other fans as she fought to get to the team. She wore a magenta jersey with the name "Bolton" bedazzled on her back and a sparkly number fourteen. "Move!" She screamed over the hoards of cheering fans. "Troy!" She yelled. Finally within arm's reach of her boyfriend, she pulled him by the jersey into her arms and kissed his cheek before the team removed him from her grasp, instead lifting him and the trophy in the air._

...

A sudden ringing interrupted the boys' fond memory and Troy stepped from the room to answer his phone.

"Jason," Ryan said. "I'll give you one chance to guess who Troy is talking to."

"What do I get if I get it right?"

"Trust me, you won't."

Jason scoffed, "Obviously he's talking to Mr. Bolton."

Chad butted in, "Why would Mr. Bolton call Troy when we're in the same building as him?"

"Because he doesn't like yelling."

Chad dropped his head into his hands.

"You amaze me, Jason." Ryan said.

Troy entered the room again, saying, "Okay, I love you, too. Bye." He hung up his phone and took his spot next to Ryan again.

"Who was that?" Chad asked.

"Lindsey,  _again_."

Jason asked, "Why does she call you so much?"

Ryan kicked Jason from under the table.

"Ow!" Jason yelped. "What's your problem?"

Ryan said, "Don't you think that's a little invasive?"

"I don't know what that means."

"It's alright," Troy butted in. "She's obsessed with planning this wedding. She wants my opinion on every little detail. _Do you think the embroidery on the placemats should be floral or hearts?_ Do I care? Does anyone care?"

"Whoa, man…Careful," Chad teased. "If I'm at a wedding I expect the nothing but floral embroidery when I dine, or you might as well have a shotgun wedding for all I care."

"Noted," Troy groaned. "God, there's just so much planning and organizing involved."

"Why don't you have something small?" Ryan suggested.

"Lindsey wants a big wedding," Troy sighed.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Ryan teased. " _She_  wears the pants."

Troy sarcastically responds. "Haha, oh yeah," before raising his middle finger to Ryan.

"Gentleman!" A deep voice barked from the door.

Troy immediately dropped his middle finger and looked towards his father with big, guilty eyes.

"Follow me," Jack instructed.

The five of them filed into the hallway when Jack said, "Oh, Blake, you can stay behind. Keep working."

"Okay," Blake obliged, retreating back to the room.

"What's going on?" Jason asked.

"Oh, that's right. Jason, why don't you stay behind, too?" Jack said.

Chad and Troy shared a skeptical glance while Jason went back to the room.

"Follow me," Jack said.

The remaining guys followed Jack through the cubicle forest and out the other side towards the bigger, fancier offices. They all piled in Jack's office where Charlie was waiting, who stood to greet them.

"Good morning, interns," Charlie smiled. "Please, take a seat."

Chad and Ryan shared the black leather couch while Troy took an armchair. Charlie and Jack stood across the glass coffee table in front of the fireplace.

"Gentlemen," Charlie began, slowly pacing the wood floor. "We asked you in here this morning for an important meeting."

"You all have done extraordinary work as interns these last nine months." Jack added.

"It's true. You've made us very happy, proud businessmen and fathers."

"We want to acknowledge your hard work," Jack continued. "Your hard work deserves recognition. Today, we'd like to bring you on as official architects with a full-time schedule, benefits, and a 401K." Jack smiled at them proudly, but their unenthused reactions confused him.

"What about Jason?" Chad spoke up solemnly.

Charlie cleared his throat. "We've decided that Jason needs some more time as an intern to refine his skillset."

After a moment of silence, Troy said, "Then we'll wait."

"Excuse me?"

Ryan clarified, "We'll wait for Jason."

"Boys, a promotion isn't something you wait for your friend to catch up with you for. This is a business."

"Not to us," Troy spoke. "This is more. This is our team. We entered the firm as a team and we intend to stay one. So thank you for your consideration, but we won't be taking the positions." He stood to leave, Ryan and Chad following him.

"Wait!" Charlie called out, "Give us a moment." He grabbed Jack by the shoulder and pulled him over to the window.

Troy exchanged hesitant glances with Chad and Ryan as they waited.

"What if we promoted Jason now?" Charlie quietly asked Jack.

"We agreed that he wasn't ready."

"I think we should reconsider that stance," Charlie pleaded. "These guys work with him the most. They should be able to determine whether or not he's ready better than we possibly could."

Charlie and Jack approached the guys again and began, "Can all of you vouch for Jason's abilities?"

"Yes," The three responded.

Charlie smiled at Jack, "It's settled then!"

"Alright," Jack obliged. "The four of you will make a team. Troy is the team leader; Chad is the team lead assistant."

The three Wildcats exchanged smiles amongst themselves and set out back to the little room for the interns. "Pack up, man," Ryan said to Jason.

"Why?" Jason asked.

Chad responded, "We're getting promoted."

"To like…senior interns?"

"No, Jason," Chad shook his head. "To fulltime architects!"


	27. Growing Up: Part Two

_5 years ago._

Sitting at the large dining room table, surrounded by scraps and remnants of a papier-mâché project, Lindsey proudly held her freshly painted heart up to the light. Its magenta colors glistened and reflected across the long room. She took her time gazing at her project, appreciating its fine details, but the moment she heard the large doors leading into the foyer shut, she ran off to greet her fiancé, cheering, "Troysie!"

"Hey, baby!" He wrapped his arm around her, the other still carrying his briefcase. After a quick peck on the lips, he shared, "I have truly great news! The boys and I became fulltime architects today!"

Lindsey gazed back towards the dining room longingly and asked him as she laid her head against his chest, "What do you think about roses in the center pieces?"

Troy quickly shook his head in irritation, "Did you hear what I just said?"

"I did," Lindsey separated from him and put her hands on her hips. "It's about time, isn't it?"

"Well…it's still an accomplishment nevertheless. Aren't you glad?"

She unenthusiastically agreed, "Yeah, it's great."

"Okay, well, I was thinking I'd go out with the guys tonight to celebrate. You're welcome to come."

"Troy," Lindsey warningly began, "aren't you forgetting something?"

He shot her a confused look. "We don't have anything planned tonight."

"Not tonight," she began impatiently tapping her jimmy choo shoes on the tile floor, waiting for him to remember. "Tomorrow morning!"

He peered at her through narrow, scrutinizing eyes. "The cake tasting?"

"Exactly. Don't you want to be well rested for that?"

"I mean, it's…" Troy said, "it's just cake."

"Just cake?" Lindsey asked incredulously. "You might as well say it's  _just_  a wedding!"

"Oh come on, you know that a wedding and the cake served there are of completely different importance!"

Lindsey began stomping away, yelling over her shoulder, " _Just_  a marriage, too?"

"Lindsey…stop being so dramatic."

She spun suddenly around, her blonde hair opening like an umbrella around her head and gasped at his words.

"Exactly. We both know that cake isn't what this is all really about. You just don't want me going out tonight. That's what's actually bothering you."

"That is not on my mind at all!"

"You always do this, Shar! Whenever you don't want me to do something, you make up excuses for why I can't go."

"I am  _not_  doing that, Troy. All I'm doing is suggesting you be mindful of what we have coming up tomorrow."

"I don't need you to set my bedtime schedule." With that last word, Troy left for his bedroom upstairs.

He pulled the tie off from around his neck and fell back into the massive bed, his eyes glossing over while he began remembering the earlier, simpler times with Lindsey.

...

_The rusting, sky blue pick up truck slowly rolled into the long driveway that led up to towards the massive estate. He used one of his clammy, shaky hands to put the vehicle in park and the other to undo his seat belt. He climbed down from the tall truck and began strutting towards the large front doors, reminding himself to breathe. He suddenly froze in place mid-step when he realized he was forgetting something. He ran back to the car, opened the passenger door and gently picked up a rose corsage from the seat._

_He jogged up to the massive doors again and rang the doorbell. A thin man in a sharp black tuxedo and white gloves opened the door. "Good evening, M- Mr. Bennett," the young teen stammered._

_"Excuse me, sir, but I am not Mr. Bennett," the kind man informed him. "I work for the Bennett family." He explained._

_"Then…" the young teen shot his blue eyes around the foyer in confusion._

_"Troy," A deep, intimidating voice said from behind him._

_The boy spun around and was faced with Mr. Bennett. "H- Hello, Mr. Bennett." He offered his hand out to the man to shake._

_Mr. Bennett gave the teen a strong shake before saying, "My daughter has told me much about you." The man began pacing in front of the grand staircase, his hands held behind his back. "Varsity basketball team, is it?"_

_"Yes sir, this year and last."_

_"That's fantastic! And correct me if I'm wrong, but is it not the case that your father coaches that team?"_

_"Yes sir, he does."_

_"Does your family play any other sports, say, golf?"_

_"Yes sir! My family loves golf."_

_"Marvelous! We own a country club about twenty miles out of the city. We'd love to host your family for a few rounds sometime. What do you say?"_

_"That sounds fantastic! My parents would greatly enjoy that. Thank you, sir."_

_"You may call me Mr. Bennett, Troy."_

_"Understood, Mr. Bennett," Troy awkwardly laughed._

_Mr. Bennett' eyes suddenly shot up above Troy to the top of the grand staircase as he looked on in wonder. "And there she is!"_

_Troy turned around to see a gorgeous blonde in her fluffy, dazzling pink dress._

_"Hi Troy!" Her sweet voice echoed throughout the foyer._

_"Hi!" Troy looked on in bewilderment at her appearance._

_As Lindsey slowly descended the grand staircase to join them, Mr. Bennett murmured to Troy, "Listen, you can have her out until ten. One minute late and she won't be allowed to go out with you again. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes si-, Mr. Bennett."_

_Lindsey joined them and smiled, "You look nice, Troy."_

_"Thank you, you look amazing!"_

_Lindsey giggled and averted her eyes as a blush of red overcame her light complexion. "Thank you."_

_Troy kept his eyes fixated on her, when he suddenly remembered what he held in his hands. "Oh! This is for you." He took the corsage out of its plastic container and stretched out the band._

_"It's beautiful, Troy." She said, putting her hand through the attached band. "Thank you."_

_Mr. Bennett interjected, "Alright, what time will you have her back by, Troy?"_

_"Ten," Troy responded/_

_"Atta boy!" With one strong pat on the back, Mr. Bennett ushered the couple out the doors._

_Troy performed his gentlemanly duties by opening the door to his truck and helping hoist his date into it. They were already a few miles on the road when his trusty family vehicle coughed and puffed, and some black smoke began rolling out from underneath the hood._

_"Troy," Lindsey said in worry. "What's going on?"_

_"I don't know," Troy nervously pulled over and hopped out, popped the hood, and inspected the issue. He walked around to the side of the door where Lindsey was patiently waiting and said, "I need to call my dad. I don't think I can fix it."_

_"Will we make our reservation in time?" She wondered._

_"I- I hope so," Troy jogged back around to his side of the truck and got back in. He took his phone out from his tuxedo breast pocket and dialed his dad. Troy told Lindsey that his father would come and help them as soon as his meeting got out._

_"Maybe we should call my dad," Lindsey suggested._

_"No, I don't want him to know about this."_

_"My dad would be closer."_

_"I- I don't want him to think that I can't handle it."_

_"Alright," she hesitantly agreed. "I just hope we don't miss our reservation."_

_"We won't."_

_Troy turned on the radio and around fifteen minutes later, his father finally pulled up in front of them. It took Jack one glance to deem, "You can't drive this, and I don't have the parts to fix it. We're gonna have to get a tow."_

_"Can I borrow your car?"_

_Jack looked down at his son as though he had lost his mind, "Absolutely not."_

_"Well, can you take us to the restaurant?"_

_"We can't just abandon this car on the side of the road, Troy."_

_"Then how are we going to make our reservation?"_

_Lindsey jumped from the car and started walking to join them. Jack pulled his son close to him by the arm and whispered in his ear, "I saw a McDonald's a few blocks down."_

_"You're not seriously suggesting that!"_

_"Troy," Lindsey said. "I'm getting hungry."_

_"Well," Jack spoke. "Here's the deal, I can't fix the problem. We need a mechanic. So the tow truck is on its way and it'll take the car to a shop. The two of you will have to wait for that to happen until I can drive you to the dance. In the meantime, there are a few placed to eat nearby."_

_"What's nearby?" She asked._

_Jack looked to Troy. Troy responded, "We…Um…Could go to McDonald's?"_

_"_ McDonald's _?" Lindsey sneered._

_"I'm so sorry, Lindsey."_

_"No, no. It's fine. I just…I wasn't expecting that."_

_"I wasn't expecting to dine there tonight, either."_

_"I'm so hungry, I could eat whatever. Let's go!"_

_Troy somberly followed Lindsey along the sidewalk towards the McDonald's, his head dropped low in shame._

_"Troy," Lindsey suddenly stopped, pivoting to face him. "What's wrong?"_

_"I can't believe you look this gorgeous and yet, I'm taking you to a freaking McDonald's. I'm disappointing you and I'm disappointing myself. You deserve so much better."_

_"Troy," Lindsey sweetly said. "It's not like you purposely made the car break down._

_"I know," Troy heavily sighed. "I just…I am so, so sorry about this, Lindsey. I feel awful about having to take you here instead of the place I had in mind. I promise I will make this up to you, if you'll let me."_

_"Of course. It's not like this date is all that bad, honestly. Troy, I'm just happy that we're together. Don't worry about this little thing, and it_ is _just a little thing."_

...

Troy blinked a few times as he became reacquainted with his surroundings after that fleeting memory. Just in time, Lindsey entered, sniffling and wiping tears that fell onto her long cheeks.

"Sweetheart," Troy approached her and caringly rested his hands on her shoulders, "What's a matter?"

She sniffled a few times before responding, "it makes me sad when we fight."

"Oh honey," Troy brought her into a strong hug. "I didn't mean to make a fight out of all this."

"I know you didn't intend to, but it always winds up there, doesn't it?" Lindsey sank in his embrace in defeat.

"Couples argue, baby. This is normal."

"Sometimes I feel like I don't want this to be my normal life though, you know?"

"No," Troy shook his head, slowly pulling away as he felt a ripping sensation in his heart. "What are you saying? Are you having doubts about us?"

Lindsey averted her eyes away, "I don't know." She brought her French manicures up to her mouth and began nibbling on the fake ends of her nails.

"Baby," Troy looked at her intently, "Look at me. I promise fighting won't be our normal. Your life with me will absolutely not be fight after fight."

"How am I supposed to believe that when I can't ask you to stay home for one night without an argument?"

Troy was stuck for what to say, feeling partially tricked and blamed by her. "Well…I…" He rubbed the back of his neck in stress and internal conflict. "We always come to a compromise. Like, I'm not going out now."

"You're not?" Lindsey finally looked back up at him with big, begging eyes.

"No."

"Thank you," She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him with a hidden grin on her lips, proud of herself for coercing him.

...

Jason smoothly leaned against the bar, asking the strange woman, "Did it hurt?"

"Excuse me?" She looked at him in confusion.

"Did it hurt, you know, when you fell from heaven…because you're an angel? Ay-o! I'm Jason. What's your name?"

The woman scoffed, picked her cocktail up from the bar, and walked away.

"Damn it!" Jason cursed himself. He glanced back towards Ryan and Chad at the table, who encouragingly point to another woman down the bar.

Jason looked between the woman and the guys uncertainly, but caved in and approached her. "Excuse me, could I talk to you for a minute?"

Back at the table, Chad and Ryan watched on in amusement at his now seventeenth failed attempt to pick up a girl. "Poor Jason," Chad said.

"It's not like any of the cheesy lines you taught him are helping the cause," Ryan reminded him. "If anything, I'd say that this is your fault."

"It's not about what you say at all."

"Oh?" Ryan raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"No," Chad leaned forward and set his drink on the low table in front of them. "It's all about delivery," he sat back in his seat and unbuttoned his business jacket.

"What are you? Some expert in picking up chicks now?"

"Give me a target," Chad challenged. "I'll bring her back over here with me just to prove it."

Ryan looked around their table and spotted a red-haired woman with a short, sparkly dress standing alone. "The redhead," he said.

"Fine," Chad agreed, standing and walking over to the woman.

Ryan watched on in amazement as she appeared to be giggling over his remarks and grabbed onto his arm as he led her back to their table.

"Hello!" Ryan friendly greeted her.

"Hi! I'm Megan," She said, still giggling beneath her words. She took a seat on the other side of Chad.

"Megan, I have to ask you, what did my friend say to you to convince you to come over here?"

"He asked me how much a polar bear weighs! I don't know, I guess that's just my silly sense of humor."

"Hmm," Ryan responded, slightly shaking his head.

"Perhaps we just have that same weird sense of humor, ya know?" Chad said.

Megan laughed, "That must be it!" She twiddled with a lock of her scarlet hair.

Ryan pressed on, interrogating her. "Do you like pick up lines like that?"

"I like attractive men," Megan clarified, her eyes darkening in lust as she looked at Chad.

Ryan uncomfortably adjusted in his seat and cleared his throat, evidently uneased by their exchange.


	28. Family: Part One

_April 30th, 2016.  
Saturday._

Her large brown eyes peer out the window in amazement at the site below. Massive mountain ranges surround a dazzling blue lake in the center. Only a few select vacation cabins line around the body of water. The exclusive zip code allows for only the richest of the rich, the moguls of their fields.

The yellow castle-like mansion belongs to a member of the Broadmoor family – known for their hold in the diamond industry. The second mansion with an impressive pool and garden, but nothing else especially spectacular, belongs to one of the owners of nearly half the oil rigs in Alaska. The final estate has a nouveau-modern look with a bulbous shape and nearly all-glass exterior with a circular patch of solar panels on the roof.

"You see the round one?" He asks, leaning over to look out her window and pointing to the third estate.

"Yeah!" Gabriella responds.

"That's us," Troy tells her, wrapping his arm around her.

"It looks magnificent," she sweetly responds, quickly pecking him on the lips.

"It is, you're going to love it."

Jack reenters the cabin from the bathroom and says to the gushing couple, "We'll be landing in about five minutes, and then we'll take the car back into town and to the house. Troy, did you send me your team's initial draft for the Jefferson account?"

"Dad," Troy raises an eyebrow to his father. "What part of  _vacation_  don't you understand?"

"We may be out in Colorado, but the firm is still busy at work as we play. Sometimes sacrifices need to be made for the business. You'll have to learn that some day." Jack lowers himself into the single seats across the aisle from them.

"Sometimes fun needs to be had for the sake of keeping one's sanity, but you'll have to learn  _that_  someday," Troy teases.

Jack grumbles, "Troy," in response.

"It's just a week in Aspen, dad," he rolls his eyes. "The firm isn't going to go up in flames because we're away. So please, relax and forget about work."

Jack removes a tablet from his chair and says, "There's no such thing as forgetting about work."

"That's why you're losing hair," Troy quips back with a playful smile.

...

Jack, Troy, and Gabriella had piled into the family car and arrived at the intricate lake house. On the stoop, Jack looks over his shoulder at Gabriella and warns her, "My nephews – Troy's cousins – are quite energetic. He might be a little beaten up by the end of the day."

Troy pitches in, "Oh, I certainly  _will_  be."

Gabriella asks, "So take it easy on him is what you're saying?"

Jack says, "Precisely," before opening the door into the foyer.

The group cautiously lowers their luggage onto the tile floor and glance around the interior quietly, almost afraid to disturb the stillness. Suddenly, a door slams from the second level.

Troy calls out, "Hello?"

Two boyish voices begin chanting, "Troy!" The loud commotion of feet fumbling down the stairs continues until two small figures sprint towards Troy.

Jack guides Gabriella to step out of the way and she watches on as they lunge into Troy's arms.

"Paul! Lucas!" Troy greets the twins, their bodies already weighing him down.

"Troy!" The two of them latch onto his arms and dangle from him, laughing and yelling.

Jack says, "Let him get situated before you start jumping all over him, boys," batting away the twins.

Troy says, already running out of breath, "It's fine."

The twin around Troy's neck loosens his grip and is lowered onto the ground to join the other, "We've been waiting all day to see you!"

Troy smiles magnificently and responds, "I've been waiting all day to see you, too! In fact, I have a little present for you both."

The twins gasp in delight and shuffle their feet excitedly.

"It's in my luggage," Troy says, reaching behind him and grabbing one of the suitcases. He unzips the luggage and takes out two blue and orange nerf guns. "Just don't get them stuck too high up the walls, and avoid the eyes. Enjoy!" He passes off the toys.

"Whoa!" They gladly accept the toys and examine them closer.

Jack intervenes, "Before you both run off, let us introduce you to Gabriella. She works at the firm with Troy and I."

The twin sporting a little green bowtie introduces himself, "Hi Gabriella, I'm Paul."

The other with a noticeable gap in his baby teeth says, "And I'm Lucas!"

"Can we play now?" Paul asks.

Jack barely has enough time to give him permission before they're running around, dodging each other's shots and reloading their foam darts.

A red-haired woman enters the foyer next, carrying a baby on her hip, "Nothing like the Boltons arriving to wake us from a nap."

Jack says, "Sorry about that, Lisa." He crosses to her and gently hugs the woman. "You look beautifully well-rested."

"Thank you, Jack." She reaches her open arm out to Troy. "Get in here, Troy."

Troy takes his turn hugging Lisa and then steps back to Gabriella's side, snaking his hand around her back.

"Where's Allen?" Jack asks.

Troy leans into Gabriella's ear to inform her, "Allen is my dad's brother and Lisa is his wife."

Lisa answers, "Probably out in that hot tub. You should go get him. I'm afraid if he stays out there any longer he won't be able to un-prune."

Jack offers, "I'll go get that lazy man," before departing.

"Who's your friend, Troy?"

Troy looks down at Gabriella in surprise. "Oh! Sorry, this is Gabriella. She's my girlfriend."

"Nice to meet you, Gabriella," Lisa reaches out her hand.

"It's nice meeting you, too, Lisa?" Gabriella shakes her hand.

"Yes, welcome to Colorado! Is it your first time?"

Gabriella opens up her mouth to answer, but a gasp steals her voice away. She rubs her arm where she had been poked and finds one of the nerf bullets sticking to her.

Troy spots the twins from their position on top of the stairs, "Excuse me, I must defend your honor." Troy sprints up the stairs.

Gabriella giggles as the boys scream and run around, imagining Troy chasing after them like a wrangler with unruly pigs.

"Gabriella," Lisa says, "Could I ask for your assistance in preparing this evening's dinner? I might need someone to take over if the baby needs something."

"Of course!" Gabriella looks at the yawning infant in her arms. "What's her name?"

"Tiffany," Lisa responds.

"She's simply gorgeous," Gabriella approaches them and strokes her hand over the baby's thin hair.

"Do you want kids some day?"

"Lots," Gabriella giggles.

"That's wonderful. We need more Boltons. Anyways, I'll show you to the kitchen." Lisa leads Gabriella into the massive room with dark mahogany cabinets and sprawling granite counter tops. "Could I hand her to you? I have to fix my wrap so I can use both my hands."

"Sure," Gabriella takes Tiffany from Lisa while she fiddles with the fabric.

"Thank you," Lisa takes the baby back and fits her onto her back. "Alright," She says, rubbing her hands together and peering down at the open cookbook on the counter. "We're making a roast with carrots and green beans and mashed potatoes. Oh no!" Lisa suddenly brings her hand up to her forehead.

"What is it?" Gabriella asks.

"Shoot! I forgot to grab the hand mixer while I was in the attic. Gabriella, could I bother you to retrieve it for me? We need it for the potatoes."

"Of course! Where did you say it was?"

"Upstairs, there's a thin stairway up to the attic to the right of first door on your left after you turn around from the staircase. Do you understand?"

"Umm, yeah," Gabriella unconfidently says. "Don't worry. I'll find it."

"Just…call down if you need any more directions."

"Okay!" Gabriella laughs. She makes her way out of the kitchen, through the foyer, and up the stairs. After some good, old-fashioned trial and error with all the doors, she eventually finds the one with a narrow staircase. She ascends the stairs and glances around the small, dark and dusty room. She finds boxes marked  _X-MAS DECORATIONS_  and  _HALLOWEEN_ , but none indicating kitchen utensils. She spins around and checks the stacks of boxes behind her.  _LIVING ROOM, DINING ROOM,_  and finally,  _KITCHEN_. She stands on her toes to grab the box on top of it and sets it down by her feet, when she reads the top flap marked  _TROY:_   _PAST_.

She effortlessly flicks the top flap back and notices a blue piece of fabric. She lifts it from the box and unfolds it. A wave of sadness and pain overcomes her when she discovers it to be a sweater with the word  _DAdDy_  sloppily stitched onto the front of in yellow yarn. She stares at the garment while struggling to resume breathing. She had heard about his past from him, but had never seen a surviving object from that time, a piece of living history.

Gabriella drops the sweater back into the box and quickly closes it, her heart still aching. She lifts her sweaty hand to her face and brushes her hair behind her ears. "Okay," she murmurs to herself. She continues into the  _KITCHEN_  box and finds the small mixer, then takes it back to Lisa in the kitchen.

"I got it!" Gabriella announces as she enters the room.

"Thank you," Lisa spins around to take the object when she's confronted with her appearance. "Dear, are you okay?"

"Yeah! Why?"

"You look as though you had just seen a ghost."

"No ghosts," Gabriella smiles.

Lisa flashes her a perturbed look, then drops it. "Alright."

...

Lisa asks exasperatedly, "Paul, would you please eat more carrots than you sneak onto Tiffany's plate?"

"I'm not doing that!"

Allen chips in, "We can see you, Paul. Eat your vegetables. They're good for you."

Paul sulks, "They don't taste good for me."

Suddenly, Tiffany begins smacking her small, clumsy hands against the tray of food and whining. Lisa remarks, "Someone's fussy!"

Gabriella drops her fork and lifts the infant from her high chair and holds the little one in her lap.

Lisa offers, "Gabriella, if you want to finish your dinner, we can take care of her."

"It's alright," she says. She uses the plastic spoon to scoop up a small amount of the mashed potatoes and puts it up to Tiffany's mouth.

Troy watches on as she gently feeds the little infant, a distinct look of consideration crossing over his features.

...

Troy picks up a stack of folded shirts from his suitcase and carries them over to the dresser. "Dinner was delicious, babe. My compliments to the chef."

Gabriella responds simply, "Thanks."

"Thank  _you_ ," Troy crosses around the bed over to her and puts his arms around Gabriella, when he notices her stiffness. "Are you okay?"

Gabriella shrugs, "I'm fine."

"Well I've been dating long enough to know that usually means the complete opposite," Troy chuckles. "Talk to me, babe. What's on your mind?"

Gabriella is silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not it's worth bringing up. She caves, "I found something in the attic earlier today. I didn't mean to snoop. I wasn't expecting to find anything."

"What did you find?" Troy asks, leaning against the bed frame.

"A sweater with  _Daddy_  on it."

Troy remains silent for a moment, before plainly stating, "I see…"

"It just…It made me think about us, and what I mean to you."

"You mean a lot to me, Gabriella."

"Yeah, I just…I feel like what we have couldn't possibly compare to what you had before. You had a wife, a daughter. You were a family."

"That was years ago, Gabriella. They're all gone, some of that a good thing and some of that the most difficult loss of my life. I'm not going to take steps with you and compare you it with my life  _before_. You shouldn't be concerned about that."

"Yeah, but…"

"No but's."

"Troy, seriously, I'm just your girlfriend."

"You're my girlfriend who I love with all my heart."

"Still just a girlfriend."

"Do you want to be more?"

Gabriella considers the question for a moment, and then answers, "Yes."

Troy blinks, then a small smirk sneaks onto his face. "What's crazy is that I was just thinking something similar over dinner when you were feeding with Tiffany."

"What were you thinking?"

"That you'd make a good mom. Do you see yourself becoming a mom in the near future?"

Gabriella smiles at the thought, "I'd like to have a husband first, of course."

"So…you want a husband?"

"Are you asking me if I want to marry you?"

"I just want to know your thoughts on marriage."

"Are you asking me about this just for fun, or…?"

"I'm asking because I think that you would make for a wonderful wife and an even better mother."

Gabriella says, "Well, if you asked, I would say yes."

_May 1st, 2016._

_Sunday._

The moment Troy wakes up, he remembers the night's conversation with Gabriella and sets off down the hall towards his father's wing. "Dad!" He calls out.

Jack suddenly steps into the hallway and greets his son, "Troy, did you send me those files?"

"Not right now, dad."

"I need them right now, son. I've needed them since the flight. You need to remember that although we're family, I'm still your boss and you need to perform your job."

Troy rolls his eyes, "Okay,  _boss_ , I asked for this time off from work. Please stop bothering me with it."

"I fear for the future of our firm with your attitude of not on the clock, not my problem. I raised you better than that, Troy. Where's your work ethic?"

Troy rubbed a hand on the back of his neck in stress, "I didn't come out here to argue with you about work. I actually came out here to ask you an important question."

"Which is…?"

"Do you know where grandma's ring is?"

"Yes, I do. What on earth would you want with it? I know you're not thinking about marrying anyone."

"Maybe I am."

Jack scoffed, "Absolutely not."

"So…you're deciding whether or not I get married? I'm an adult, dad. I can decide these things for myself."

"I'm not going to give you grandma's ring just to watch you give it back to me in a couple years after yet another failed marriage."

"You don't need to be such an ass about it."

"Troy, excuse me, but obviously it's going to fail. How long have you two known each other?"

"Does it matter?"

"How long?"

"Over three months!"

"Listen to me, Troy. That's no time to decide whether or not you want to spend the rest of your life with them. You know, that's how long a marriage is  _supposed_  to last."

"When you know, you know. I can't help that I know this now instead of in a few more months."

"Then you can keep it in mind while the two of you date longer, at least a year. I'm not giving you grandma's ring yet."

"But-"

"This is not up for debate! I will not permit it. This is the end of that discussion."


	29. Family: Part Two

_May 4th, 2016.  
Wednesday._

"Good morning Sharpay," Tiara greets her favorite co worker in her sweet English accent as she slowly lowers into her swiveling office chair, cautious not to let the full coffee cup in her hand splash.

Sharpay replies, "Good morning, Tiara." She lets out a pent up sigh while pushing her pens into a perfect line up on her desk. "Well, I suppose this is it. The end of the firm as we know it. It's not going to be the same without him, will it?"

"I'm afraid not," Tiara sulks, leaning onto her desk with her lips stuck in a crooked tilt.

Sharpay whines, "Why does my brother always run away from me?"

"Have you heard anything about why he's leaving?"

"Well," Sharpay lowers her voice and pushes herself away from the desk and towards Tiara. "Nothing confirmed, but last I heard, he fell in love with Gabriella and was jealous of Troy getting with her. It's become too unbearable to see them together, so that's why he's leaving."

Tiara shakes her head, "That's not it."

"Do you have another idea?"

Tiara leans back in her chair and thoughtfully peers between the cubicles and down the hallway to their offices. "I've had an idea, a suspicion, for awhile. I believe there's something between him and Chad. Something that's been going on secretly for awhile."

Sharpay asks, "Something romantic?"

"Yes."

"Wow. That is quite the conspiracy."

"I have no proof of course, and I think Troy and Jason are even more clueless than I am."

Sharpay says, "Wait, doesn't Chad have a baby on the way?"

"So maybe Chad is bisexual, or maybe she's a cover. Either way, he and Ryan had a romance at one point. I can just  _feel_  it."

…

Troy hovers his hand over the door handle into his father's office and takes in a deep breath in preparation. He finally pushes the door open and walks inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs as he waits for his father to get off the phone.

Jack speaks into the device, "Yes…Well those columns will cost an additional twelve thousand each. Can they budget it? … Alright, well, get back to me on that…Talk to you soon, bye." He hangs up the phone and approaches Troy in the seats. "Is there a problem?"

Troy smiles, "No problem, dad. Just wanted to say hi to you this morning."

Jack eyes him suspiciously, "Alright. Good morning then."

"Umm, how's the union pacific account going?"

"It's going well, Troy. What sparks your sudden interest in it?"

"Just curious is all," Troy casually glances up and around the fireplace.

"You never ask me about my accounts, and you haven't cared about trains since you were a little kid. If there's something else you'd like to discuss, I'd rather you just spit it out."

Troy folds his hands over his lap, "I think you know why I'm in here."

Jack rolls his eyes, "This again?" He drops his head into his hands in defeat and frustration, "As I've told you every day since you first asked me a week ago, you haven't known each other long enough."

"Dad – I love her."

"Then keep loving her until you reach a year together, and then we can talk."

"I want to have a baby with her by then, and we'd like to get married before that."

"What is with the rush? You should be going far slower than that. You might not understand why, but you'll thank me for this someday."

"I don't need you to decide these things for me, dad. I'm a grown man who can make his own decisions and who doesn't need your permission to get married."

"No, but you do want grandma's ring, and  _that_  I can keep from you as long as I'd like. Now please, I pay you to work. Go back to your office and show me some progress."

Troy quickly stands and approaches the door, then says over his shoulder, "I can only ask for your support so much before I forget about it and do it anyways, but I would  _prefer_  for you to support me. That's what family should do, boss."

…

Gabriella uses the side of her hand to smudge some of the color on her canvas before leaning back and looking at the full picture again. She jumps at the sudden knock on her door.

"Hey," Troy says, leaning in the doorway.

"Hey!" Gabriella stands and crosses over to him, placing her hands on his chest and reaching up onto her toes to peck him on the lips.

Deciding the quick kiss wasn't enough; Troy puts his arms around her and raises her up to his lips again for a deeper kiss.

Gabriella giggles, "HR would not approve of this."

"I'm not going to tell them," Troy winks at her.

Gabriella teases, "I might have to file a complaint if you keep interrupting me."

"Bye, then," Troy turns to leave, but is pulled back by Gabriella.

"Come in here," Gabriella leads him in and shuts the door behind him.

"Oh man, is this going to be what I hope it is?" Troy wiggles his eyebrows towards him.

"Troy!" Gabriella gasps, playfully hitting Troy on the arm, "We are absolutely not doing anything like that at work!"

Troy jokes, "C'mon, I'm the boss's son, I can't get fired."

"You might be the CEO's son, but I think even that might get us fired."

"Not if we're quiet enough," Troy says.

"I can't tell if you're actually being serious now or not."

"I'm joking. What did you want to show me?"

Gabriella gestures towards her canvas, "What do you think?"

Troy scans over the piece, the triangular shaped building and the blue sky behind it. "It's good."

"You're right. It's not my best."

"Honey," Troy laughs. "I just said it was good."

"Yeah,  _only_  good. You usually call them beautiful, magnificent, gorgeous, or other such praises."

"It's not your work, honey. I promise. I'm just…distracted is all."

"By what?"

"I can't tell you."

"Hey, no secrets, remember?"

"This one you wouldn't want to know about. It'd ruin the surprise."

"The surpr-" Gabriella suddenly falls silent as a look of realization crossed her features. "Oh my god," she brings her hands up over her mouth. "It's about a ring, isn't it?"

Troy says, "Well I certainly couldn't confirm nor deny that."

"Oh my god!" Gabriella squeals, her eyes filling with tears.

Troy strokes the side of her face with his palm and says, "I should really get back to work. I'll see you later. I love you." He presses a kiss to her forehead and departs the room.

…

Everyone in the office all piles around the cubicles and listen to Jack while he says goodbye to Ryan on his last day. "Well, farewells are always difficult, but I will try. Ryan…it has been a pleasure watching you grow and develop from a shaky handed undergrad to the legitimate architect I see before me today. I hope that you will take what you learned from us into your next job and make us proud."

While everyone applauds, Jason turns to Ryan and says, "Wait, you're actually leaving?"

Ryan responds, "Yes, Jason."

"I thought you were joking. Why are you leaving?"

Ryan accidently glances away to Chad before responding, "It's just time."

"That's dumb," Jason shakes his head disapprovingly.

Jack speaks up, "Would anyone else like to say anything?"

Troy says, "You already know how much we'll miss you."

Ryan quips back, "About half as much as I'll miss you?"

Troy smiles and approaches his friend for a hug.

Ryan looks to Chad next and they have a stiff final embrace, and then he gives the others in the office their final goodbyes and leaves the building.

…

Troy sits in his office, sending the few last emails of the day when he notices his father standing in his doorway.

Jack says, "If you want the ring, follow me."

Troy slowly stands from his desk and follows his father back to his office.

"I keep it in the vault here because it's safer than my place," Jack explains while entering the secret combination.

"I see…" Troy stands behind him.

"Here it is," Jack reaches in and takes out a little old box. He keeps it held tightly in his hand and turns around to face Troy. "Are you sure about what you're doing?"

"Yes," Troy says.

"No, really think about it before you answer."

"I've been thinking about it for awhile. I am one hundred percent certain."

"Alright, now don't say that I don't support you," Jack hands him the box.

Troy immediately opens it and is confronted with a delicate, vintage engagement ring. "Thank you, dad."

…

The ending credits roll across the screen as the couple lounges in the long leather couch.

Troy asks, "What did you think?"

Gabriella wipes away a few tears that had silently fallen and sniffles, "Why do they always have to kill off the dog at the end?"

Troy chuckles, "To make you cry, I guess."

"It's not fair. I cry so easily."

"Did you still like it?" Troy asks her.

"Yeah, it was a good movie."

Troy roughly rubs his hand over Gabriella's leg. "Good."

"Are you okay?" She asks.

"Of course!" Troy smiles reassuringly. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm spending time with the love of my life, after all."

Gabriella weakly smiles, but then frowns, her sad eyes gazing out.

"Are you okay?"

Gabriella swallows and says, "How do you know we're going to be different, Troy?"

"What do you mean?"

"If we get married – how do you know we won't fall apart like half the marriages and your last one?"

"This is so astronomically different, Gabriella. I couldn't even begin to explain it. The way I feel with you is…" Troy glances down as tears pool in his eyes. "I feel joy. I feel safe. I feel like I've found my true home. I never tire of being with you. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I can't wait to start a family with you."

"Don't forget to become my husband first."

"I won't." Troy smiles, his hand secretly snaking down to his jeans and feeling for the outline of the box.

"You promise?" Gabriella asks.

Troy moves to kneel in front of Gabriella and says, "Here's my promise," while removing the little box from his pocket and exposing the ring to her.

She gasps and cups her hands over her mouth as tears pool in her eyes.

"Gabriella Montez, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" 


	30. Epilogue

_October 8th, 2016.  
_ _Saturday._

"Keep them closed!" Troy orders, keeping his hands cupped over Gabriella's eyes from behind her.

"I am."

"No peeking," Troy removes one of his hands to open the door to their apartment and guides her in.

"I'm not."

"You promise?"

Gabriella giggles, "Of course."

"Keep going straight," Troy directs her past the piano to the and next to the windows. "Don't look yet," he removes his hands and goes to stand next to the surprise. "Alright, open!"

Gabriella opens her eyes to find a smiling Troy standing next to an easel with a blank canvas and a set of colored pencils.

Troy says, "I know it's a little cramped and nothing compared to the studio you had before, but I thought you might like having your own little space at home for-"

"I love it," Gabriella reassures him, reaching her arms around his neck and kissing him. "It's so thoughtful, Troy. Thank you."

"Of course. I can't wait to see what you can make of it." He places his hand at the back of her neck and threads his fingers up through her hair as he kisses her.

The two separate when there's a knock at the door, and they cross through the living room and past the kitchen to open the door.

"Hey!" Taylor cheerfully greets them, a hand resting on her massive baby bump.

"Taylor! Look at you! You're absolutely glowing!" Gabriella awkwardly hugs Taylor, the bulge in her abdomen preventing them from a complete embrace.

Troy greets his friend, "Sup, man?"

Chad throws an arm around Troy and pats him on the back as they hug, then presents a bottle of wine out towards them. "Thanks for having us."

Gabriella looks over at the bottle, "That's so nice of you to bring us some wine!"

Taylor responds, "Of course! You think we'd show up empty handed?"

"You're presence is always a gift enough," Gabriella's hands hover over Taylor's baby bump before she pulls them back underneath her chin and asks, "May I?"

"Of course!" Taylor pulls her jacket open and rests her hands on her lower back while Gabriella rubs her baby bump.

"Has he been kicking lately?"

Taylor laughs, "He won't stop! He's going to be an athletic one, just like his daddy!" Taylor pinches Chad on the arm.

Chad sends Taylor a smile in response.

Gabriella confirms with Taylor, "Two days away, right?"

Taylor says, "Yep! That's what the doctors believe. He's small enough that the doctors aren't concerned if he goes a little over the due date."

"I hope he doesn't make us wait too much longer. I'm so excited meet little Nathanial McKessie-Danforth!"

Taylor turns to Troy, "Did you hear that, Troy? Your wife is excited for a baby. Hint, hint, much?"

Gabriella and Troy both laugh while joining hands. "We've decided to wait a little longer."

Chad says, "Well I can't say that's a bad idea."

Taylor shoots him a perturbed look. "Hey Gabriella, I might need to borrow a pair of sweatpants. I misjudged these trousers."

"Of course!" Gabriella takes Taylor's arm and leads her away to their bedroom.

Troy looks at Chad cheerfully, "Isn't it exciting to have a baby on the way?"

Chad sends him a halfhearted smile and says, "Yeah, I guess."

"Look man, I know this isn't what you expected or planned for, but you should try to cheer up a little bit."

"I've been trying to cheer up for months, man. You don't know what this is like. It's not that easy to fake happiness when you're not living the way you want to. So don't tell me just to just cheer up when you have no idea the stress I'm under."

Troy raises his hands up to his sides in defense, "Alright, sorry. I'll back off."

Chad doesn't let it go, instead he rants to Troy; "It's easy for you to think being happy is easy when you and Gabriella are so madly in love. You two got married, and now you'll start having kids you actually want. You'll become a dad when you feel ready and you'll raise your children and be a good father. You and Gabriella will grow old together and be that cute elderly couple who've loved each other for decades. Meanwhile, I'll spend the rest of my life questioning the route I've chosen, wondering if I should have gone with someone else after all."

THE END


End file.
